


Where the Sun Doesn't Shine

by SnowDog



Category: Animorphs (TV), Animorphs - Katherine A. Applegate
Genre: Multi, Rachel (Animorphs) Lives, Tom Berenson Survives, rational
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:27:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26153410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowDog/pseuds/SnowDog
Summary: The Animorphs did it. They won the war, rescued Tom, and rode off into the sunset. But Jake only cares about one thing, and something's wrong with Tom. He's borderline comatose - listless, unresponsive - and no one can figure out why, or how to cure him. But Jake didn't fight this hard and for this long only to lose his brother - so he comes up with a terrifying, desperate, last-ditch plan. Will it be enough?
Relationships: Jake Berenson & Cassie, Jake Berenson & Tom Berenson, Jake Berenson/Cassie/Marco, Jake Berenson/Rachel (Animorphs), Tom Berenson/Rachel
Comments: 18
Kudos: 22
Collections: Animorphs Summer Fic Exchange





	1. Search and Rescue

**Author's Note:**

> This idea came to me as a kind of Rational Fic. I've been fascinated about what Tom might actually be like if he were to have been rescued in the end, and what he might look like. I remembered the Chapman arc from the 2nd book, and figure that if he could barely function after only a few months as a controller, what did three years look like? And what might Jake and Tom's relationship be like? I wrote this in a fit of inspiration and haven't really edited it - so please feel free to leave a review, leave suggestions, hell, even take the idea and run with it in your own fics! The yeerk morph is a fascinating one and genuinely has so many applications for real life, so I've always wondered how the Animorphs might use it if it came down to it. Not a lot of fics deal with this, even though on many occasions it would have been "rational" of them to use the morph to infiltrate the yeerk pool. ANYWAYS, please enjoy!

My name is Jake Berenson, and we had done it. We had won.

Dear reader, I'm not going to give you the introduction that's prefaced every other account of our fight. I trust you know it - and all of us - as though you've been fighting alongside us this entire time. Who the yeerks are, what an andalite looks like, the ways in which we've all suffered and struggled and changed throughout this process.

The better part of the past 3 years had been spent fighting this grueling and horrific war against the yeerk empire. We’d all lost so much: friends, allies, our childhoods. But we had all fought with purpose that drove us to keep fighting each day, to keep putting one foot in front of the other, to keep prevailing against impossible odds. Mine was to save my brother, Tom, from the yeerk slug that had taken over his body and turned him into our most formidable enemy. I’d known he was gone since the beginning of the war, and this was why I fought. There were so many times I had resigned to giving up, to even daring to entertain the frightening fact that my brother and I wouldn’t get out of this intact. It had gotten to a point where seeing him - or rather, his body, a mindless puppet - gave me a physical spasm of pain. And so, when Tom’s yeerk showed up at the Taxxon’s cave to offer us the opportunity to “collaborate”, I did something rash. Tom was unarmed - I had to give the yeerk credit here - as a sign of good faith, which I assumed had been part of a plan to trick us. He’d offered us a deal, the chance to collaborate. And we had taken it, because we didn’t see any other option. 

As he turned his back to go, I gave Ax a curt nod, and in less time than it takes to blink, the andalite’s tail hit Tom flat against his temple and knocked him out cold.

The others, Cassie, Rachel, Marco, Tobias, even Arbron, stared at me in utter shock. This was never the plan, and I had made a dangerous decision based on emotion, without anyone’s consent or input. It might have been one of the most selfish things I’ve ever done. No one made a move, no one knew how to react. It occurred to me that I might have just ruined everything. But there was no going back now, I had to go forward with this, and be the leader they were all looking at me to be. I sprang into action. “Cassie, horse morph. Now”, I snapped. And looked over at Marco: “Gorilla”. They both nodded wordlessly and began to morph. “That had to hurt,” I winced, but pushed off my guilt. After all, a little headache for Tom was nothing if it would mean his freedom. “Sorry Tom”, I said absently, eyes narrowed. I shook my head and snapped out of it, turning to face everyone. “Anyways, he should be out for at least an hour - enough time to get him back to the Hork Bajir valley.” As Cassie and Marco finished their transformations and Marco had situated Tom’s limp body on Cassie’s back, I started leading the way out of the cave. “Oh, and one more thing,” I recalled, snapping my fingers. “Someone call Erek.” 

By the time the yeerk woke up, he was tied up and surrounded by us Animorphs, Toby, and a gaggle of Hork Bajir in the Hork Bajir Valley. The deal we had offered was simple, and was not a negotiation: as a symbol of “good faith”, he would abandon my brother as his host, and in return, we would give him a new host - one that we assured him was also morph capable, and an upgrade to boot. To make this deal one that Tom’s yeerk wouldn’t even deign to reject, the host we were offering him in exchange was… an andalite. The sound of clopping hooves and the delicate but powerful deer like form of an andalite warrior entered our circle and bowed his head in wordless affirmation. Of course, this was actually Erek, whose hologram was a masterful and entirely realistic-looking projection of a powerful andalite warrior, one who looked as though he could rival Alloran himself in battle. We had completely fabricated the story for his presence on Earth, and why he would be willing to do something that was considered one the greatest atrocities of his people: host a yeerk. I won’t bore you with the details, but it was good. It was really, really good. I had to give Marco credit for that, he really is brilliant. And since Erek couldn’t use thought speak, we had Ax play the role of this new andalite, answering his questions by faking a thought-speak voice different than his own so as to be unrecognizable. The andalite “morphed” into various formidable animals - Erek switching up his holograms and force fields - to prove himself until the yeerk was finally satisfied that he was getting the exceptional end of the deal. Of course, he did not know anything about the Chee, and couldn’t fathom how a few human children in the woods could possess any kind of technology that could fabricate this. 

Anyways… the slug thought he had won the lottery. I could sense his barely-concealed glee radiating from my brother’s face. Within the hour, we had a deal, and the “andalite” was pressing his ear up against Tom’s to make the...transfer. Seconds later, the hologram was gone and the yeerk disappeared into Erek’s android wiring while Tom slumped back in his seat. Immense relief filled me, one that swelled and overpowered every sense. This was the moment I had waited for for 3 long, impossible years. But as leader, I knew we didn’t have time to hesitate or even celebrate this small victory. I would come back to check on Tom once we’d carried out our mission. Now that the yeerk was trapped in Erek’s “mind” and he could successfully probe the slug’s memory, we were able to form our plan. We had all the codes and battle strategies we would need to win, to take control of the blade ship. All of us had acquired the yeerk too, just in case, and any time Tom’s role was involved, one of us would simply morph him while another posed as his yeerk. By the way - I should mention that it turned out that the yeerk HAD in fact planned to betray us, despite showing up to meet us unarmed and making grandiose promises of allyship. In a sickening way, I realized i didn’t feel even the smallest bit of remorse. 

\----

Just day’s later, the war was won. We had done it. But there was only one person I wanted to celebrate with, someone I had been dying to meet.

I got the scoop as soon as I headed back to to the Valley following our victory. Soon after Tom was freed, and while we were off fighting, the parents and Hork Bajir had watched him closely. But when I returned, ready to greet my big brother for the first time in years, I was met with extremely troubling news: Tom was completely listless. I listened as they explained that while he was breathing, he would not speak to anyone. He did not move. Not once. Transporting him to a bed in one of the cabins had been an ordeal as he was pure, limp, dead weight. His eyes wouldn’t track, and he didn’t register any emotion or awareness. It was almost as though he were in a coma, they confirmed. My heart sank as each new report about his condition brought more bad news. I could feel the tears rolling down my cheeks. What if I had been too late? 

Tom was airlifted to the hospital later that night; it was the biggest hospital in town, and one of the most prestigious in Southern California. Our new celebrity statuses as war heroes ensured that Tom would have access to the very top doctors, and I counted on them to figure out what was going on. I stood by his side through days of testing and examinations by some of the top professionals in the medical field - some of whom were world-renowned specialists and had flown thousands of miles just to take a crack at the case. But with each passing day, every test came up undetermined. Tom passed all his physicals; his musculoskeletal system was perfectly healthy and in fact superior for his age, probably due to his prior status as an athlete growing up. His brain scan showed no immediate abnormalities. Every test for every illness the doctors could think of came up negative. And yet, Tom showed almost no signs of life beyond his breathing and vital functions. Of course, I was hopeful and confident. I held onto that, because I had to - because the alternative would have been so painful that it would render me breathless with grief. 

And Cassie stayed by my side during those first few days, never wavering, keeping me grounded. Of course, my parents were there too, but they were distant. And they know how connected I was to this, and gave me my space, which I was grateful for. Rachel, Marco, and the others circled through, but I didn’t leave that hospital - or Tom’s side - for a week. 

By the 7th day, the Doctors’ evaluations had begun to dwindle from “we can try testing for’s” and “it might be’s” to “only time will tell”. They were losing hope, completely confounded by what was going on. And then, when Melissa Chapman came to visit, it hit me. It was almost 10pm on a Tuesday night at that point, and the hospital had quieted somewhat from its usual rush. It was just the two of us, alone in Tom’s room, dozing off on one of the large, yellow hospital armchairs inhabiting the corner of the room. We were dozing off on the couch, Cassie sitting slightly on top of me with her head resting on my shoulder. I jolted up so fast that she was almost thrown off the chair altogether. “Cassie, I’ve got it!” I almost yelled, and she blearily rubbed her eyes, recovering from the shock. “Jeez Jake!! Everything okay?” she asked, concerned, her eyes looking at me kindly. “Cassie, I think I know what it is. Remember that time when Chapman’s yeerk gave him control and he could barely stand up or speak or do anything??” Cassie yawned. “Yeah, it was like he’d forgotten how to use his body-“ she stopped short, then looked at me. “You think that’s what’s going on here?”, realization dawning in her eyes. “Yes, that’s exactly what I think” I said, completely certain of my theory. “That was almost 3 years ago, Chapman had only been a controller for, what - 10 months, a year, tops - at that point? Tom’s been a controller for WAY longer than that. What if he’s just completely forgotten how to…” I swallowed painfully as I considered the next word: “- how to exist?”. Cassie looked thoughtful. “I mean that’s very possible. He’s been out of touch for so long and probably never expected he’d ever be free, so he disconnected.” Then, quieter, she said “Jake, if this is what you think it is, and it’s severe, he might not have been… present for anything that’s happened recently, never mind the last year or two that we’ve been fighting”. I nodded. I don't know why, but for some reason I thought of this TV show Marco had shown me years ago, about a group of kids who were playing a virtual reality game that was so realistic that they didn’t realize when their consciousnesses became trapped in it by the game’s sadistic overlord. Their bodies lay in hospital beds, atrophying, while their minds lived on inside the game, fighting battles and living a fantastical adventure with other player as though it were completely real.

What if Tom was… somewhere else? I thought back to the show. What did their families do when they couldn’t reach their children? I swallowed as I tried to remember. It had been at least a couple years since we’d watched it. I knew the answer: nothing, they couldn’t do anything. The only solution would have been for one to enter the game using the same technology and meet them where they were. But how the hell could I do that??? This was reality, not a video game. An entire being, an entire consciousness couldn't just... disappear, could it?? I’d tried everything - speaking to him constantly, putting on his favorite shows and music, or at least media he loved growing up, squeezing his hand, stroking his hair... And then, I had a terrifying thought, one that almost sickened me to consider. But we were out of options, and I feared that the longer we waited, the further away Tom became, if he wasn’t already gone.

“Cassie” I turned to her, swallowing hard, coming to grips with what I was about to say.

“I think I have an idea. And you’re not going to like it.”


	2. Whatever it Takes

I made the connections to his brain, feeling the spark of electricity. Once I was sure I had settled my new body into every crevice, and my hold was complete, I called out to him. <Tom?>. No response. I figured I could use the Yeerk instincts to maybe “dig him out”, uncover him from whatever dark, isolated place of his brain he had escaped to to cope with the horror he experienced for so long. I couldn’t imagine it; I couldn’t bear it. The pain of what my brother had gone through caused me such sorrow that I couldn’t help but cry out mentally. I knew from Cassie that hosts could “feel” their yeerks’ emotions, and I hoped that mine would alert him to the new, different and yet familiar, presence within his mind. Or at least that the influx of emotion - so different from the cold, ruthless indifference of the thing that had taken up residence in his body for long - would jolt him awake, would bring him back to me. Human pain, human emotion. What was more jarring was the fact that I couldn’t get anything from him. No emotion, no sense of anything really. It was like I was the only one there in my head, even though it wasn’t actually my head.

Like I’d entered an empty shell.

I cringed at that thought and mentally reprimanded myself for even daring to put my brother in that category, even daring to envision that he was….gone. _NO! No, no no no_. He _was_ there. He WAS. He _had to be_. He had been so strong for so long - he was in there and I knew it. I did what I swore I wouldn’t do, and tapped into the yeerk’s instincts. And the yeerk knew what to do. Slowly, and then frantically, I began to dig through memories of the past year, starting from the beginning. I could feel that after the first year of his infestation, his hope had turned into an indescribable dread, which then gave way to a resounding numbness. As the memories grew more and more recent, I felt what he felt - and each memory got hazier, further away, like he was heading down a tunnel. Until eventually, the complete darkness took over.

At a certain point, I realized, he stopped being aware of what was going around him at all. I knew that even under the firmest control, hosts could still see out of their eyes and understand what was going on around them; yeerks had no way of preventing that. But he chose not to. He didn’t. It hit me that he probably didn’t realize what had happened in the past 72 hours, the victory that I owed all to my love for him and my drive to save him. It was jarring and sad and painful to realize that this was the point where he had truly given up - given up hope of savior, willed himself into nothingness so he didn’t have to experience the pain anymore. It was almost too much for me. <TOM??> I tried again, but it was like screaming in an empty parking lot, where you knew you were alone. <TOM!! Come back please. PLEASE COME BACK. WHERE ARE YOU!?!> I was growing panicked, starting to lose control.

All of a sudden, I felt a hand on “my” shoulder” and Cassie’s concerned face appeared in front of me. I realized in my introspection, Tom still appeared listless to the outside.

“Jake, can you hear me?” she asked.

I hated to do this, hated more than anything to do once again to my brother what two horrific yeerks had done before, but I needed to answer her. “Yeah, I’m fine, but Cassie he’s -“ and the shock of my brother’s voice, broken and choked with my own emotion, made me stop short. I realized that all the feelings I had experienced when I first entered his brain, but couldn’t act upon as a slug, began to register on my face - on Tom’s face; I couldn’t help it.

Embarrassed, I tried to clamp down, struggled to maintain my composure. A single tear rolled down my - Tom’s - cheek, which I used his hand to wipe away. I was both fascinated and deeply disturbed by just how naturally I had taken over, how comfortable I immediately felt in this new body. As if it were my own. Mentally, I slapped myself. Despite Tom’s inability to connect with his own body, his body had remained - on the outside - in almost normal condition. Sure, he’d lost some muscle once his yeerk had quit the basketball team on his behalf. And it’s not like he had time to workout extensively since then, what with the demands of Empire duties. But he wasn’t in bad shape per se. A little skinnier than I remembered him, but it still looked like he could’ve at one point been athletic. So everything was in tact and functioned okay from my standpoint, which was just one minuscule relief. His body would recover. But that was only part of the equation.

“Jake… it’s okay,” Cassie murmured, looking into my eyes, like she could see through them to me. “I’m not going anywhere”. I squeezed her hand and used Tom’s mouth to smile bravely.

But then I lost it.

I couldn’t stop the tears any longer, and cried - cried for Tom and the pain he’d gone through, cried for myself and the brother I had lost. The immense dread had begun to settle on me as I knew that in this strange, invasive, twisted way, this might be the last time I interacted with my brother. Cassie’s hand slipped into mine and squeezed tightly.

And then……. I felt it.

Something… I don't know what, but I could feel a presence stir. But it was faint. Like a bonfire that had burned down to its last flame. It was only a spark, if that, but I held onto that. Needed it. Clung to it desperately.

<Tom??> I tried again.

Nothing.

As quickly as this new presence emerged, a shapeless, wordless presence, it flickered out again. I could swear for a moment I felt confusion that was not my own, though it did not stick around for me to analyze what was going on. But the hope had begun to build within me again. This emotion, this love, Cassie’s touch - things he hadn’t known or experienced in so long that he had probably forgotten them. Tom’s essence, however faint, had sensed a shift. I needed to do something drastic and fast. I wiped my eyes and stood up, ignoring how weird I felt. How weird all of this felt. So weird and bizarre and downright uncomfortable. What kind of psychopath thinks that the way to rescue his traumatized, paralyzed brother is to go inside his head and dig him out?? I should have waited for the professionals. This was rash, this was psychotic, this was desperate, this was …. I should never have… I could feel a lump rising in Tom’s throat but there was no time for that. I shoved it down, shook my head and cleared my throat. Then I turned to face Cassie and spoke again: “I have an idea. I need you to drive me to school”. 

\----

It was almost midnight and all lights at the school were off. Cassie and I - still in Tom’s body, because I didn’t know if we had the capability of transporting him in his lifeless state - strode in like we owned the place. I couldn’t get over just how strange I felt. It was like I was myself, just….not quite. And not in any way that felt like a morph. I think it was because I was inhabiting an actual person, ingrained with habits and quirks that made superimposing my own traits on top of it nearly impossible; it was like walking a well-trodden path.

I realized that without even thinking, I was walking like Tom, with long strides and a slightly-loped gait that contrasted with my own quick, postured steps. In a weird way, the familiarity gave me a small bit of comfort. Tom was also about 2 inches taller than me… you know, not that I was competitive.

The doors to the front were locked, but a kind janitor, who by all accounts of luck happened to be mopping the front hallway at that point in time, gave us a kind and knowing look. He set aside his mop and came to the door. I heard keys in the lock and 3 minutes later, we were in. We hadn’t needed to say much; after all, Tom had been somewhat of a star on the basketball team and was featured in team pictures, plaques, and championship trophies all over the school. And Cassie was just known and loved by everyone. After all, despite our… absences towards the end, we had spent years walking these hallways. As members of this community. 

It had been well over a year since I had set foot in that gym. The gym that had colored both mine and Tom’s childhoods, our memories, dreams, aspirations, emotions. Tom was so in love with the game. When he was younger, his ultimate goal was to go pro, in the same way that many children, with stars in their eyes, dream of being astronauts or celebrities. People indulged it because he was so charming and so passionate. Tom was disciplined and determined in the way that made you feel like maybe, just maybe, he could actually do it. He was naturally gifted and tall for his age - eventually, and way after the fact, settling on his current height of 6’2”. Not quite the height to go pro, but maybe his skill would turn the heads of some college recruiters. _Would_ have, anyways. I had to remember that that was past tense - a far away dream from long ago, one that might have happened if things had gone differently.

Actually, if only one thing had gone differently: if he had kept his head focused on the game, and not some girl. At only 19 years old, it was possible that he was still growing. Though I doubted it at this point, given all that he’d been through and the as-yet-unknown ways in which he was likely stunted during his 3.5 years tenure as a puppet. 

Cassie flipped on the lights in the gym and I walked onto the empty court, sneakers squeaking with every step against the slicked wood. I took it all in, shut Tom’s eyes, gave myself a moment to just savor the moment. I breathed in the musky and familiar scent of the gym, and willed myself to pretend that for just a single moment, I was 15 years old again, walking out onto the court to take my position as center forward. It was my first game on the Varsity basketball team, and I was so immensely proud to be there. I was the youngest on the team, but had somehow secured a starting position. I basked in that overwhelming pride, and then focused my eyes on my opponents, the other team. The 6’3” boy in the black and orange jersey stared back at me, ready for tip-off, and… wait.

WAIT. 

WAIT, WAIT, _WAIT_.

I hadn’t made the team. I was never on Varsity. I, Jake Berenson, the midget, was cut after 8th grade tryouts, and it was devastating, something I had been so ashamed of when my brother had been one of the youngest to make the JV team at my age. The realization hit me slowly, after my hurt pride recovered from that stinging fact: that these weren’t my memories; they couldn’t be.

These memories, these things I had never experienced… these were Tom’s!! Had I subconsciously through my yeerk connection to his brain evoked some nostalgia from deep within his psyche? I snapped back into reality to assess. Though I wasn’t the one bringing them up, the memories continued to surface. Staring into the crowd at my cheering parents after I had scored my first 3-pointer. The absolute rush I had felt at being able to score the winning shot by nimbly dodging a defense guard more than half a foot taller than I was and swinging a clean layup. The way I felt so at home on the court. How much I loved, CRAVED, my time on the court, and fought so hard for it during practice. My favorite Nike sneakers that I had started to believe were my good luck charm. I let the memories wash over me as I stood there on that 3-point line. 

All of a sudden, I wasn’t alone anymore.

I can’t explain how things shifted so fast, but it was as natural as opening my eyes. I felt HIM. And then, I felt everything all at once. I felt a wordless presence, joy, basking in the memories as if they were happening in real time. It made me realize that Tom had had to consciously suppress himself into a corner of his brain in order to not feel was going on externally; but these memories were internal, and so they were his new reality - and just as powerful. When I stepped out onto the court and breathed the smell of wood, something had been unlocked.

<Tom, it’s me!! It’s me, Jake! Are you there?> I tried tentatively.

I felt the presence shrink back, but things were different. I was no longer alone in my head. There were thoughts!! Emotions that I could sense and read!

_Where … is this a trick… punishing me…feeding time...where am I_

There was confusion, fear, and then numbness as I felt the presence retreating again, convinced he was being tricked and settling back into the protective subconscious.

Now was not the time to be subtle and nuanced.

“Tom!” I said, out loud this time, in his voice. “Tom, it’s me, Jake! I’m here in your mind in yeerk morph. You’re FREE. You’re free, Tom! I’m here at the school. I want to help you”.

I turned my head to see Cassie, who had taken up residence in one of the bleachers, staring at me. She got up and rushed over. 

I sat down as Cassie took my hand. Closed my eyes, Tom’s eyes. “Tom, you’re free”, I repeated quietly. And then I waited.

\-----

It was gradual, not all at once, but I knew that he was there. I had prayed on this moment, depended on it. I could feel the confusion as the consciousness rushed back. And then. I was hit with _EVERYTHING_. I can’t explain it in a way that will do it justice, but in what couldn’t have been longer than 2 minutes, I saw it all. Visions of myself, Jake, across the dinner table: _Tom’s_ visions. I felt what he felt. The love and pride and protectiveness and resolve that I would never be captured. That Tom would be freed. That though it might take awhile, that future would come. How he’d held on for over a year before finally “breaking”, and discovering through another host's suggestion the way to retreat into nothingness so as to avoid the pain altogether.

To simply will himself away.

His happiness in seeing my family safe, when he himself was imprisoned and helpless. The profound dread every time his head was forced under. Everything. Everything Tom felt and said and did, came to me.

I was so overwhelmed I wanted to cry out, and I even think that I did, but the volume in my head was so loud that I couldn’t be completely sure.

And then finally: <Jake?>

It was him.

The emotions I felt right then were indescribable. Love and relief and every other happy feeling that exists in the universe - and through my power of emotive transference, I know he felt it too. His voice was faint and uncertain, but it grew stronger as the hazy realization began to dawn on him. <What’s happening? Is this a trick, yeerk? Jake is dead, you filthy slug!! YOU killed him!> The voice rose to a wail and immense pain filled our shared brain.

<No, _no_! Tom!! You’ve got it wrong. We _won_. The Animorphs _won_. Your yeerk is gone! He’s never going to hurt you again> I felt my window was closing as he faded. Maybe that had become his default - to simply fade when he felt a disturbance.

And then, rather than explain any further, I showed him everything.

I directly interfaced with his brain and willed my memories of the past few days to surface, like transferring files onto a floppy disk. And then, wonder.

<Jake, it’s really you> he whispered, barely audible. <How are you showing me this? Where are you?>.

Without thinking, I lowered Tom’s head a little in guilt. <Tom, we couldn’t reach you. I thought the real you was gone, that you’d broken, we tried to talk to you but you weren’t moving and I got so scared and I… I…. > \- the realization and disbelief overtook the wonder - <I morphed a yeerk, to try and get you back Tom. I didn’t know how else to communicate with you>

I don’t know what I expected then, but I let him take it in.

I felt his disgust coupled with fear, but fear for himself, fear that he wouldn’t recover, and then finally understanding and amazement.

<I’ve seen hosts, Tom> I said quietly, sadly. <Hosts who have been enslaved for so long that they no longer know how to move on their own. I don’t know the science behind it but it’s like they’re not there anymore. They’ve lost touch with their own bodies and… and …. and I was so scared that was you, Tom. That even though we’d rescue you, you’d never be able to move on your own again. Or be anything close to the person you were. I didn’t know how else to speak with you in a way that you’d hear and understand. I’m so sorry for doing this to you, I was desperate and…> I rambled.

I could feel his understanding.

<Midget,> he said, using the nickname that I hadn’t heard in years - not from the real him, anyways. <I don’t know how we got here, and that scares me. But everything you’re saying makes sense. To be honest, I thought I’d die a slave. I stopped fighting, to the point where they would carry me to the cages every time he fed. I don’t know if I can move on my own - and I’m scared too>.

Absently, I nodded his head.

<Okay, even for someone who’s been a slave for 3 years, this is weirding me out>, he said teasingly, and immediately it felt like it did before all of this - just two brothers bantering in the kitchen, and not locked in a telepathic conversation.

<Tom, when I come out of your head - do you know if you’ll be able to communicate? We can’t thought speak, and I can’t force you to morph because then I won’t be able to leave your ear. What’s going to happen when I leave your head?>

Tom thought for a moment.

<To be honest, I don’t know, Jake. I don’t know what I’m capable of anymore. If I even remember how to blink or move my hand or even stand. But I’m going to try. And whether I succeed or not…> \- I felt a small tinge of pain in his voice - <I want you to know that I’m here now. And I’m not leaving again.>

We shared the moment together, pure love and a sense of peace radiating and filling the silence between us. 

“Hey Jake, what’s happening??” I heard a worried voice call.

Cassie!

In this profound moment, I had forgotten she was there!

<She’s probably freaked out, we look zoned> I explained to Tom, only half-joking. <May I?>

He chuckled silently, darkly. <Hey, you didn’t ask before, you don’t need to ask now>.

I winced a little at that.

I realized that at some point, I had sat down in the center circle of the gym. I looked up at Cassie and grinned. “We’re both here. I’m coming out now”, I said in Tom’s voice. I would never get used to that, and I really hoped I wouldn’t have to. As I began to disconnect from Tom’s brain, I heard him say <Hey midget? I know it’s gonna be tough after today, but try to get used to being less handsome, okay?>.

I smiled inwardly and with that, I was out, cradled in the warmth of what was probably Cassie’s hand. She set me down on the floor and I began to demorph. My legs grew first, proportional to and stuck behind the tail of my still-tiny yeerk body. Then the rest of me started growing. My heart began to beat again, my vision, hearing, and senses returned.

And then I was me again, sitting next to my brother, who was lying flat on the ground with his head cradled in Cassie’s lap.

“He fell over as soon as you came out”, Cassie reported.

I nodded, leaned over, grabbed him under his armpits, and pulled him up. We stared at each other for several moments, and I could tell he was concentrating immensely. His brow furrowed a tiny bit and I could feel the weakened muscles faintly straining from where I was holding him. “J…” his mouth said, eyes glistening with unrepressed happiness. I could tell that he was making an immense effort. My heart was so full. “Jake.” he finally managed to get out, in a slightly faint voice. It was good enough. It was better than good - I had my brother back. I stared at the face that had been my enemy for so long - a face that now, showed nothing but love.

I hugged him with everything I had.


	3. Reunions

I’d had to morph yeerk again and reinfest Tom in order to leave school, since he couldn’t walk on his own. On the drive home, Cassie and I didn’t talk much, but the atmosphere was triumphant. Because I had almost no control over yeerk instincts, I couldn’t keep my emotions from registering outwardly - Tom’s body was just an extension of myself. I shuddered at the thought. It was disturbingly yeerk of me. But, nevertheless, I kept a grin on Tom’s face almost the entire time.

<Get a grip, Jake! You’re making me look like an idiot> Tom complained.

<Hey, it’s only Cassie! Shut up, I’ve waited three years for this> I replied, giddily. Nothing could make this victory better. I had my brother back, for the most part, and my girlfriend next to me, and things were going to be okay for the first time in awhile. Cassie reached over and squeezed my - Tom’s - hand, other hand on the steering wheel, and I squeezed back.

<Ugh, groooss> Tom whined. <Leave me out of your love story>. 

I giggled, <I can’t help it! I'm just so happy, and... I don't know how to turn the yeerk off.> I admitted. <Besides, you're BACK, Tom!! Do you even know how long I've waited for this moment?>

<Yeah, yeah, whatever. Missed you too> Tom grumbled. <But don't be mad if Cassie likes _me_ more after all this>. 

I was acutely aware of just how weird all of this was, but I didn’t care anymore. All pretenses and any sense of self-consciousness I otherwise might have had were off now, and we’d experienced so much strangeness at this point that almost nothing could phase me anymore. 

When we arrived back at the hospital, we were met by an angry Rachel and Marco, who had both been sitting in the lobby waiting for us. “I texted her”, Cassie said sheepishly. “He’s her cousin, too! And besides, this was insane, and you know it”. I shot her a look of fake annoyance, and then sighed, “yeah, I guess we were gonna tell her anyways. Glad you're here, Rach”. I winced. I hadn't called her Rach in awhile - that was Tom's thing, from when we were younger. Did I mention that Tom is big on nicknames?? I guess this is how yeerks are able to blend in so seamlessly; they just absorb the tiny little nuances of their host.

Rachel’s anger and worry turned to surprise as soon as she registered me. “Tom? Is that you? You’re…. okay?” she whispered. Her hand flew to cover her mouth and her eyes glistened with emotion.

Before I could react, a second later her arms were wrapped around me tightly. “Hey Rachel” I said with Tom’s voice, gently pushing her off me. “It’s Jake speaking, actually. I’m sure Cassie told you what happened”, I said sheepishly, shifting my weight and looking down to stare at my shoes.

<Should I be worried about how comfortable you’re getting doing that?> Tom said half-jokingly.

<Sorry> I apologized, immediately feeling guilty.

I had to remember this wasn’t my body and that Tom was still so fragile, no matter how comfortable we were with each other at this point or the fact that he still couldn’t really communicate for himself without me there. Rachel’s face twisted from alarm into concern as she processed this, her eyebrows knitting together. So maybe Cassie hadn't provided details. I kind of appreciated that she had given me the opportunity to try it before getting anyone else involved.

"What do you mean, it's Jake..." And then her eyes widened in an expression of shock. "No way, you can't mean..." She looked me up and down.

"So, I guess she didn't tell you then." I conceded. This looked bad. I had a lot of explaining to do. But Rachel was composed, and she was also logical. After everything we'd been through, she couldn't exactly take the moral high ground here... after all, Tom was still _my_ brother, and it was part of my responsibility to figure out what was best for him. I knew she'd understand. I shifted uneasily and put my hands in Tom's pockets, a nervous habit. <Scared of Rachel, eh?> Tom said cheekily. <You have no idea> I replied.

“She didn’t tell me everything, just that you’d had an idea and were leaving the hospital with Tom." I guess now I know that that idea was. Gotta say, Jake. I would’ve never expected you to actually do it.” 

“To… morph a yeerk?” I guessed.

“I mean, yeah - none of us besides Cassie has ever done it. It’s freaky. Not to mention invasive”.

"Not to mention at the veryyyy top of the list of things we've said we'd never, ever, ever do?" Marco piped up.

Rachel winced, then she smiled. “Well, sounds like whatever you did worked. Good thing too, because if it hadn't, then I'd think you had finally gone off the deep end on us.” 

I grinned stupidly, “It did work. Tom’s here with me. I just needed a way for us to communicate, and honestly, I don't think I would've been able to... get through to him in any other way” I swallowed, starting to feel emotional again. <Was I that bad?> Tom asked me, his voice somber. <Yeah, Tom. I thought you were gone. I wouldn't be talking to you like this if it wasn't a... if it wasn't an absolute last resort>. I sensed him taking this in, processing it quietly.

Then finally: <Don't you dare make me cry in front of everyone> Tom warned. I nodded, composing myself.

Rachel looked at me weirdly. Then: “Oh. Well, then, that's great. Hi, Tom! He can hear me right?” Rachel was slightly exasperated, whether by my rashness or the fact that I hadn’t clued her in to my idea beforehand, but I could see the smile beginning to form.

<Alright, fine, give her a hug for me. Not like I can, anyways> Tom conceded, but I could feel his excitement at seeing her too.

I smiled at that. We had all changed so much, and these were less than ideal and normal circumstances - but my family was back together again.

Tom had an amazing smile, and slight dimples that, coupled with his charisma, could melt ice. I had always been jealous about how he’d had that natural ability to make anyone feel like they were the most important person in the world and establish rapport through his smile alone. He had used this gift to a more...devilish effect when he was younger, especially when he wanted something from our parents, like ice cream, or a new toy. And it didn’t hurt that he was considered incredibly handsome. His thick hair was darker than mine and fell shaggily, and our mom's friends always used to tell her - and us - how much he reminded them of a young Matt Dillon. Not that either of us even knew who that was. Not that I could complain, because I got my fair share of compliments too - we'd always been jokingly competitive with each other in that way. Apparently my doppelgänger was a young Rob Lowe, and apparently our mom's friends only knew of actors from their own generation. Tom did have me beat in the height department, if only by two measly inches. Hence my childhood nickname: Midget. 

“Yeah, he can hear you. He’s so proud of you, of all of us” I said. I took a step and gave her a huge hug. Her arms reached up to wrap themselves around my - Tom’s neck - and stayed there.

“He can’t really move or speak for himself right now, but he says he loves you, Rach. And that he’s grateful” I murmured into Rachel’s hair.

<Hey! I didn’t say that!> Tom protested.

<No, but you thought it> I shot back, sending him a mental wink, <Yeerk, remember?>. 

<Okay - this is never going to _not_ be weird> Tom grumbled. 

Her back kind of spasmed under my hand and I realized that Rachel, the unbreakable warrior, my fearless cousin, was... crying. We stayed there for a few minutes, and, not quite sure what to do, I slightly rubbed her back as she choked back sobs.

I’d only seen Rachel cry a handful of times.

But then, I guess, Tom and Rachel used to be pretty close, closer than she and I had been even. Before all of this, of course. Maybe it was because they were more similar - Tom had a kind of spunk, a prankster streak and humor that I didn’t (I had a sense of humor of course, I was just the more reserved one) and they always bantered so easily at family gatherings. Both teasingly razzed me and my other cousins, Rachel’s sisters, while the 3 of us sat there and rolled our eyes. I guess I hadn’t really stopped to consider how she felt this entire war, and I realized how selfish I’d been in thinking that Tom was my loss alone. She must have really missed him. I could tell she needed this; we all did. It had been a long time coming. 

I made eye contact with Marco, who had been standing quietly behind her. He kind of nodded at me and smiled. “Good to have you back, Tom. And Jake, you look great. New skincare routine?”, his grin widened. I twisted Tom’s face into an expression of mock offense. “Ha ha, Marco”, I groaned at his terrible humor. 

<Looks like he hasn’t changed at all> Tom mused.

“Tom’s happy to see you too, Marco”, I relayed. Marco laughed and came over to pat my - Tom’s - shoulder, and Cassie came in to join the hug. We all stayed like that for a bit, giggling at the sheer weirdness and joy and complexity of the moment, and garnering stares from the few people inhabiting the hospital’s waiting room at 2am. Finally, we broke apart. 

I cleared my throat. “Okay, I should probably get Tom back to his room,” I said, taking on a more serious tone. “We can explain everything to the doctors and see what our next steps are.”

We all rode the elevator together, and the three of them waited outside the room to give Tom and I a moment.

Once I had gotten Tom settled back into his hospital bed, I realized we’d need to have this conversation again. In an effort to respect his privacy, I tried not browse the thoughts that were entering his head and instead asked him directly: <What do you want to do?.. I mean, how do you want to do this? I want you to feel comfortable and not like those medical mystery patients we always used to see on the news who were trapped inside their own bodies and conscious during a coma… you know?> I rambled. 

Tom laughed, getting the reference. <It won’t be like that. I’m aware now. I think at this point, I can at least open my eyes, or twitch a little to let you know if I agree with the things you’re saying. But -> He paused for a second, considering this thoroughly - <But, since we’re kind of okay like this, maybe I could… kind of… signal you if I need to get something across that you aren’t able to explain?> I thought for a moment, and then, in shock, realized what he meant. <You mean like… I morph yeerk and … say it.. for you, on your behalf?>

I couldn’t believe that after all this time spent as a controller, Tom wouldn’t be so repulsed by the idea of another yeerk in his head for any longer than necessary, even if it was just me. 

<Yeah> Tom sighed. <I mean, look, I trust you midget. I don’t like any part of this either, but I also don’t like being completely helpless. And if I want to get better fast, I’m going to need you to communicate on my behalf, or show me the motions that I may have forgotten. I guess we can think of it like…. physical therapy??>

I laughed. <Highly invasive and experimental physical therapy. Alright Tom, if you’re okay with that, you know I want to help you in any way I can>, I agreed.

Tom thought for a moment. <Since we know I can at least blink, how about the signal is that I just blink at you really rapidly?>.

I nodded mentally, and then said <Okay Tom - I’m coming out… I love you>. 

<Love you too, Midget. See you on the flip.>

I broke my connection with his brain and slithered out, feeling the electricity fade until I dropped a few inches onto his hospital pillow. I demorphed immediately, until the two of us were squished like sardines in the tiny hospital bed and sheepishly climbed out. I glanced at him - Tom had a faint smile on his lips - and smiled back. Then I pressed the button that summoned the doctor. 


	4. The Road Ahead

As I relayed the story to Tom’s Doctor and the psychiatrist, both stared at me in absolute shock.

Had what I’d done been kind of… unethical?

Absolutely.

There was no mistaking that they felt mildly sick from it, and were squirming as they scribbled notes into their clipboards. To be honest, I did too. I never wanted or asked to be in this position. But they were also medical professionals who could see the logic behind it all, given the absolute lack of a scientific explanation. They understood that my approach had been necessary, because no tests had been able reveal what my yeerk senses helped me to discover. And in the end, it had worked out right? Tom was back, at least, in the forefront of his mind. He was aware, and that was huge.

And so, we discussed Tom’s treatment plan, as well as what Tom and I had talked about before. The doctor looked a little uneasy but agreed that I would… help out when necessary. Although I think all of us hoped that I wouldn’t need to. The medical professionals agreed to get him started on physical therapy and exercises. Something about needing to re-forge the synaptic pathways in his brain, or something like that. Basically, in their not-so medical terms, Tom’s current movement capacity was about that of a toddler. And like a toddler, he’d have to re-learn how to do everything again. How to crawl, how to walk, how to achieve coordination and make certain sounds. How to eat and go to the bathroom. Gross, I know, but that’s where we were. But the good news is that while it would be hard work getting there, none of the damage that had been done to him was irreversible.

At least, not the physical damage. 

Tom had been present for this meeting, of course. It was in his room after all.

He hadn’t been able to speak, but I saw his brow kind of furrow, and his arms trembling as he made moves to put them out behind him. It looked like he was just wiggling from discomfort, but I knew that this was him attempting to sit himself in an upright position. Finally, with an audible gasp, he fell back against his pillow and lay there, looking slightly defeated.

Okay, so maybe his physical capabilities were slightly less than those of a toddler - but it didn’t matter! We would get there. His condition had already improved leaps and bounds over where it had been just earlier today.

I walked over and put my hand on top of his, looking into his eyes, which stared back at me with a purpose and intensity that hadn’t been present before.

“Hear that, Tom? Tomorrow, you start to get your life back.” 


	5. A Different Kind of Therapy

The next day, Tom’s physical therapy began. It started with some electrochemical stimulation of the muscles. The problem, again, wasn’t any issue with the condition of his muscles - they weren’t atrophied like those of many other coma or paralysis patients. It was with Tom’s ability to connect with and control them on his own, so doctors were essentially winging it when it came to his treatment. We weren’t sure whether this would manifest in a gradual improvement, with Tom regaining control over some functions but not others, or if there would come an “Aha” moment in which it all just came back to him, like riding a bike. That would be followed by some light movement exercises, like squeezing a ball or lifting a leg.

The physical therapist was easing him into it, and I could tell Tom was impatient by the slow progress; he wanted to walk immediately, to be out of here. A few days in, Tom could close his fingers around the ball. It took all of his concentration, but I could see the pride in his eyes and the relief when he had done it, and when he relaxed, he gasped from the effort. The movement sessions would then be followed by therapy, where I would… assist, reading Tom's thoughts as he had them and translating them aloud for the perplexed woman who tried so hard to maintain her composure. The therapy was only twice a week, though; the daily movement sessions took so much out of him mentally, and we didn’t want to overwhelm him by forcing him to confront everything more than he already was.

Tom was adamant that he not be treated like a coma patient, and it was clear he had no patience for a slow and steady recovery. His rush to get back to life meant that he relied a lot on me during those first few days especially, to see if he could reform the memory of doing the everyday things that would require almost no effort under normal circumstances. It was weird the first time, mostly because the first time I had infested Tom, he wasn’t… there. I hadn’t been in his head or experienced him, or the sheer insanity of morphing a yeerk, until I was brushing his teeth for him one of those first mornings. 

I think that was the moment when it felt “real” to me, the gravity of exactly what we were doing and how… wrong it felt, even when I knew Tom wanted me there (or at the very least, preferred me to any other option). In other words, it was either allow me to help Tom brush his teeth, among other things, or have him be forced to lie there while a nurse did it for him. Rebellious and independent Tom was NOT having it with the 2nd option.

So, here we were, just two bros forming a bizarre symbiotic relationship in his hospital room. 

I should preface that this arrangement was not my or even the doctors' first choice. The "conflict of interest" that this presented was brought up on many occasions; it was pretty much akin to hiring your brother or another immediate family member to counsel you in therapy or perform your brain surgery, which was kind of a no-no in the medical world.

There were in fact several yeerks, many from the Yeerk Peace Movement, who had decided to dedicate themselves to the rehabilitation and therapy of recovering hosts, hosts like Tom, who hadn’t been able to return to a normal state of being. These yeerks worked with the government and health officials to establish and undergo a training program - as well as prove their trustworthiness and competency at assisting in something so painful and intimate and in some extreme cases, traumatic. I mean, everything all of these hosts had gone through was traumatic, regardless of how long they had been subjected to it. Unfortunately, since it had only been a couple weeks since our victory at this point, the programs were far from established and tested. Therefore, I was kind of the only - or at least, the best - option. Well, I or any of my fellow Animorphs. Rachel had even offered, a little more enthusiastically than I would have expected. Probably because she thought this might be the only time she and Tom would be able to “hangout” without me being there; I knew she wanted to help and that she was eager to catch up after all this time. And… some small, impulsive feeling told me that after seeing me in action that first night, she was mildly curious about the yeerk morph. I shuddered at the idea and mentally slapped the intrusive thought out of my brain. Gross. Besides, not like Tom would be okay with that. Or, at least, we assumed he wouldn't be. The line had to be drawn somewhere, right? 

To be honest, I probably would’ve preferred that someone else take over my “role”, if only because it was getting harder and harder to resist the yeerk's instinct to pry into Tom’s mind. The more I saw, the more painful it was for both of us. I really tried not to - but each new thought he had was like trying to look away from a loud, intense action sequence at the movie theater - sure, you could maybe avert your eyes, but there was no way to NOT hear the noise and gauge the general atmosphere around you. Of course, there were times I couldn’t help it - for example, when something - a scent or food or topic of conversation - triggered a memory, I would experience that memory alongside Tom. Although admittedly, and to my grim discovery, there weren’t many truly private moments I felt I was impinging upon. He hadn't made many happy ones since his infestation, nor did he hold onto them, and much less so during the more recent months. Memories that sometimes surfaced when I entered his head (and therefore triggered memories of his time as a host) were pretty much what I expected: awash in hopelessness, grief, begging, bargaining, silent crying… and of course I would never judge or question any of his behavior during that time. 

This morning, about four days after his recovery program had started, I morphed and slithered into Tom’s ear as usual. God, I hated that morph. It was disgusting to do and those initial moments, where I was lying on the pillow next to Tom's head before scrunching my way over to his ear, made me feel like the biggest hypocrite in the world. I had become the enemy, and was doing the very thing we despised so much about them. I was so uncomfortable with the yeerk’s form and felt so much relief when I could settle in and access Tom's senses and feel like a person again, even if it wasn't my own body.

I was getting strangely comfortable with the yeerk instincts, starting with my slightly finer control over my ability to avoid experiencing some of Tom’s thoughts, and at how quickly/efficiently I was getting when it came to interfacing with his brain upon infestation. It didn’t make either of us feel any more comfortable about it, of course, but it preserved some tiny shred of dignity that existed between either of us. 

We pretended, anyways. 

The goal was that I could eventually get comfortable enough with yeerk control that I could effectively “loosen” my hold entirely, and allow Tom to try moving on his own while I was there to “catch” him if he couldn’t. We discovered already that I could kind of retract my hold over his senses, so he could fully experience, touch, taste, and smell everything that I did for him as if I weren’t even there, which we hoped would be a gentle way of acclimating him back to sensation.

I was brushing Tom’s teeth, while staring in the mirror at the face that I’d known my whole life, but which had become my enemy for so much of that memory - and during formative years, no less. I couldn’t help it - in a way, I was still traumatized by what he had been capable of, and by the fear that I’d conditioned myself to feel in his presence. I was hit with the realization that this therapy was for both of us: I had to…retrain myself to lower my guard at the sight of him. Even though I was probably closer to him in this state than I had ever been.

Dark stuff, Jake.

I must have been staring excessively because Tom playfully jibed <What, you jealous, midget?>. I could feel his amusement. I had to appreciate how quickly he’d snapped back to his usual humor, or at least, how hard he’d tried to act it, given the traumatic circumstances and the PTSD-induced nightmares he faced almost nightly. Still staring, I widened my eyes for dramatic effect, smiled, gargled, then spit the toothpaste out in the sink. Even though it was me moving his body - a fact I still couldn’t get used to - staring in the mirror and talking out loud to him still made it feel as though the two of us were having something akin to a “normal”, face-to-face conversation. Or at least, it was as normal as things would get until he recovered and could have these conversations on his own. And we had no idea how long that would be. Also, speaking out loud helped me to feel more conditioned to his being. I’m not sure Tom realized this, but it was a recovery process for both of us. 

You don’t have to remind me how deeply unsettling and bizarre all of this was - trust me, I know. And I hated that this was how things had to be, but it had started to become routine at this point. 

And so, I laughed at the mirror. “Why would I be jealous, Tom? I’m but a humble slug whose sole purpose in this life is to brush your teeth for you.” <Because you’re staaariinggg> Tom singsonged. <Dude, you’re gonna give me wrinkles if you keep making that expression>. 

Then his tone changed, got softer, more serious. <Hey Jake… I don’t know if you know this, through my memories or anything, but… when I first got infested, mirrors scared the living hell out of me.>

I kind of furrowed Tom’s brow in a thoughtful expression. “Why’s that?” I asked, even though I knew the answer as soon as it surfaced in his thoughts. I kind of winced with guilt, but felt Tom’s understanding at this little invasion of privacy. He knew I didn’t mean to. I also hated that I couldn’t hide how I felt either, couldn’t hide my own emotions.

We were both so vulnerable.

<Don’t worry about it, I know you’re doing your best not to pry.> He said understandingly. <At this point I guess we both have to be okay with that being an inevitable… discomfort with this whole thing. But anyways, so yeah. I hated mirrors. Because I couldn’t do anything but stare through my eyes at myself. Myself doing things that I wasn’t… doing. I didn’t recognize who I was seeing. Jake, I don’t know if you thought my yeerk did a good job playing me when he was with you and our parents, but he completely dropped the act when we were in private>. 

I sort of nervously shifted at that. “Not to bring up a sore subject, but… I knew what had happened to you pretty early on. I knew it wasn’t you, and I think that’s what stuck with me every time we talked. It’s why I fought despite odds that would’ve made anyone else walk away. And for the record - he did a horrible job playing you.”

I kind of adjusted Tom to a more comfortable position, leaning forward on the counter with my palms facing backwards, gripping the edges. I felt an edge of pain from him when I brought up all the time I’d known what was happening but was powerless to rescue him. But I knew he understood why I couldn’t during those early days of the fight. Of course, we’d had this conversation earlier, and it was painful for either of us to think about, but if I was going to help him, and myself, find some kind of peace… then, well, we both needed to work through it.

“Anyways, what was that like for you?” I probed, acutely aware of how much I sounded like the mousey therapist who had come in yesterday. 

Tom sighed, inwardly. His disgust and anger radiated as he said the next words. <To put it bluntly, he was pure evil. I mean, you know this. His natural… way of being was so cold and cruel that that’s how he would look. How he would make me look, when we weren’t putting up an act for anyone. So whenever I saw myself when…> Tom’s thoughtspeak faded as a wave of pain filled our shared consciousness.

It made me feel like if I hadn’t been in control, he would’ve maybe choked up. I wasn’t so far from that state of mind myself, to be honest. 

Instead, I took a deep breath for him, for both of us. Calmed his heart rate a little.

A moment later, Tom continued. <Thanks for that. Anyways, anytime I saw my reflection, I didn’t recognize it at all. Or maybe I did; I mean I looked like a completely evil version of myself. it made me think, like… did I have this capacity in me? Was it always there, and he just brought something out? After awhile I stopped seeing myself as different from him, as a separate person altogether. I didn't want to be what I saw in the mirror. He stole my identity, Jake. My entire sense of self, everything>.

I couldn’t even bring myself to imagine my brother’s normally friendly face, his warm smile, his gentle demeanor (except when he was tackling me on the couch) as being anything like what he had described. I had seen him stressed before, but never _truly_ angry, or scary for that matter.

But as soon as I had that thought, his memories inundated me with images of what he saw then, every time he caught his own reflection. A cold ruthlessness to his expression that scared the daylights out of me. Blue eyes that had always been full of warmth and humor were unfeeling, almost unseeing, cold, unempathetic. The sneer was menacing, and something I'd never witnessed before in Tom. Usually, these moments were accompanied by horrific mental torture by the yeerk, who would find sick glee in taunting his own reflection, reminding Tom that he was nothing. That he was less than nothing. That he was a captive who would be forced to witness whatever atrocities the yeerk committed or said, whether he wanted to or not. That he didn’t even have the power to close his own eyes to block it out. Tom eventually began to associate the yeerk with himself and his own reflection, and then eventually, to escape it all… he retreated into the nothingness that he felt he had become.

Until we rescued him. The yeerk realized he could utilize something so harmless as a torture device. Even when the yeerk had dropped the “Tom” act with us towards the end, I realized that I had only experienced a fraction of this insidious essence.

My poor brother had been living through a horror movie.

I could tell that our mirror “conversations”, while they made me feel a bit more comfortable than if we simply sat quietly and had our talks in his head alone, were extremely unsettling to him and brought back memories from those dark days. I took another deep breath for us both, and closed his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Tom” I said aloud, quietly. “If it makes you uncomfortable, I won’t make you look”. 

A wave of emotion. Then, <No, I think I should look. I need to learn to be okay with myself, and midget, honestly… I feel like you do too. I get how hard it must have been for you, seeing me… not me. For all that time.>

I laughed, “seeing you? Tom, I hope you realize I am you right now”. I stuck his tongue out at the reflection. 

<Hey, shut up> he teased, with a serious edge. <By the way, have I mentioned how bizarre this all is that you’re responding out loud? I feel like a psycho talking to myself, it's super unsettling>.

I kind of laughed, then switched to thoughtspeak. <Sorry, is this better?>

<Well, at least I can hear _your_ voice now!> Tom said sarcastically. I felt like I was having one of those movie moments where the main character is having a mental breakdown and then the reflection in the mirror takes on a life of its own and spits some wisdom and then they just know what they need to do, you know what I'm talking about?>. 

I did, and couldn't help laughing out loud at that image. "And _do_ you know what you need to do, Tom?", I said sagely, leaning closer to the mirror and adopting an exaggerated expression of mysticism and zen.

<Oh my God, I really am living in a movie> Tom laughed. Then, kindly, he added <But hey, for whatever it’s worth, I’m glad I don’t have to do this alone. Thanks, Jake>. 

I felt a wave of warmth wash over me. I just kind of stood there and stared at the reflection. Really stared. Despite the fact that I WAS Tom, seeing his face reflected back still gave me a jolt of leftover anxiety, anxiety that I’d conditioned myself to feel every time we were in the same vicinity, which was pretty much 80% of the time. Because I couldn’t afford to slip up in front of him. Our lives had depended on it, and that did not weigh lightly on my soul, not even now. I moved a hand partly to brush a falling hair out of his eyes, but mostly just to reassure myself that this was all real. 

His features were softened and relaxed, unlike almost every other time I’d seen him in the past 3.5 years, and the eyes reflected my own expression, which was still so strange to me. I couldn’t really control it. I smiled for the both of us. “Tom, you’re not him anymore. You’re not THAT. You’re your own person, and you're gonna be back to your old self soon, I know it”. I reminded, emphatically gesturing with his arms as I made my point. <Technically, you’re me> he laughed. <And hey, since when did you become so theatrical?? This truly might be the world's weirdest therapy>. 

I kept thinking about the malicious mirror memories and figured that now was the time to rewrite them, in whatever way we could. Create some new association with mirrors so Tom no longer had to think about that past life. So, looking like a moron, I struck a pose. "Uhhh since we won an insane war that we had no business surviving, saved the entire world, and I get to make my big brother do weird shit like -"

_CLAAANG!_

We were interrupted by a loud metallic clank outside the bathroom door, and I poked Tom’s head out to see what was going on. Rachel was steadying an IV rack she’d accidentally bumped apparently while meandering around. “Oh, hey” she said casually, managing a guilty smile. “Didn’t mean to disrupt your bathroom acting career. Monologuing today, are we?” 

I was immediately embarassed. She probably witnessed all of that. “Oh, hilarious Rachel. You scared the hell out of me!” I glared, kind of offended that she could dare to be so comfortable as to make an insensitive joke when she knew how fresh things still were with Tom's mental state.

“I can’t believe you would sneak up on - how long have you been here, anyways??”, embarassment disguised as anger tinging my voice. <Ah, sorry Tom, I got carried away> I silently apologized for my hold over him. 

I thought he would be annoyed; he really disliked when I did anything abruptly without telling him, understandably so. But I could sense his amusement this time. <No, by all means go ahead, you guys arguing is about my only entertainment anyways.> Tom responded wryly. 

Rachel cocked an eyebrow, crossed her arms, and stared me directly in the eyes. “About 10 minutes. By the way _Jake_ , I didn't know you had it in you - have you ever considered Broadway?" I clenched Tom’s fists without thinking, but softened as I realized this was her way of injecting some much-needed normalcy into the strangeness of it all. I guess after all this time playing the role of the serious leader and carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders, I myself had forgotten that I could be fun too. Well, when I wanted, anyways. Maybe I was absorbing some of Tom's goof factor, or something.

“Nah, I don't think they'd take me. Not handsome enough” I grinned, waving a hand to refer to my - Tom's - body. <Hey!> Tom protested <I could totally be a leading man>. She snorted laughter and came over to give me a hug. “Wow, two cousins for the price of one. Lucky me!”. I couldn’t resist laughing at that. As we broke away, Rachel stared at me a few seconds longer. “What?” I demanded uncomfortably. She rolled her eyes, 

“Chill, Jake. I haven’t seen my cousin in years. Can’t I just, like, take this all in, like you have? You know you’ve kind of kept us away from him.” 

Now, Tom was curious, and a bit annoyed. <What is she talking about?? You have?? Who’s come to visit?>

Guilt flooded me. I was busted. <Just Rachel, Jordan and Sarah, Marco, Tobias, Ax, Cassie a few times… > I trailed off. 

<So why haven’t I seen any of them? I’m pretty sure I’d remember> Tom demanded, now angry. 

<Come on, Tom! I mean, you saw how Rachel was! Came in here, making insensitive jokes about all of this. I didn’t know what your comfort level was, with all of us. I didn’t want you to…> Then finally, apologetically: <I guess I should’ve asked.>

<Yeah, you should have. And for the record, I thought all of this was hilarious and it's the most entertainment I've had in a long time. You assuming that I'm gonna revert back or "break" any second only makes it worse. It makes me feel like I can’t trust you to know what’s best for me> Tom shot back, words stinging, emotions everywhere. He was ANGRY. 

But also, I could feel that his presence was strong now, full of conviction. Not muted and uncertain anymore.

Rachel was still staring, I had gone silent after all; although she must have guessed what was going on. “Everything okay?” 

I absently held up a finger to signal “one second”. And then, suddenly:

“No, it’s not okay! Jake thinks I’m some fragile flower who can't take a joke and won’t let me see anyone.” The words tumbled out of my mouth, only I, Jake, didn’t say them. The inflection was different than my own. We all froze. Well, the two of us with bodies. 

Rachel’s eyes were wide with shock. “Whoa. Was that…?” she whispered. 

Tom was in shock too, I could feel it radiating through our shared brain and body as all memory of our argument melted away. <What-what just happened?> he questioned. 

<I think you just… talked! On your own! I must have been so distracted by our argument that my hold loosened and… Tom, this is amazing!!!> I rambled excitedly. <Try it again!>

I relaxed my hold, or at least did the yeerk equivalent of being perfectly still. His body wavered as my control lessened. I could feel him trying to make the words reach his lips, “R…R-Rachel.” He was struggling, but he did it. Maybe it would be easier without me there. <I'm gonna take control again>, I alerted him. “Okay, I’m coming out”. I announced. 

“Are you now, Jake? You know, we’ve always suspected…” Rachel couldn’t resist. I rolled my eyes while my head exploded with Tom’s laughter. God, he had missed her, missed all of us. By some miracle, he wasn’t sick of me yet.

I walked over to the armchair rather than the bed. “Rachel, catch me?” I asked. She nodded.

<Okay, Tom, you’ve got this!> I sent a few last words of encouragement. <It was so effortless last time, and you spoke so perfectly - just try to remember that feeling. And you know I’ll be here if you need me>.

Then I lifted myself out of the brain’s crevices and slithered towards the ear canal, where a warm hand caught me when I fell. I was set gently on the linoleum, and began my demorph.

Relief hit me as soon as I was myself again. I had spent so much time as Tom in recent days that it was starting to become disorienting when I returned to my normal body and always took a few minutes for my brain to readjust to. I shook out my arms and legs a little to get my blood flowing.

"So, what'd I miss?" I asked.

Rachel glanced over, breaking her observation of Tom for just a moment to answer me. "In the last 3 minutes? Not much". She reached up to squeeze my shoulder. "Good to see you too, by the way! I was almost beginning to forget what you look like". 

I rolled my eyes, returned her smile, and then turned my gaze to the chair where I had had Tom sit. He was squirming - no, spasming - trying to sit up, definitely with more vigor than I had seen up until now. A look of total and complete concentration wrinkled his face, tinged with frustration. His head was slumped over, but after a couple minutes he had managed to hold it upright. Well, for about 30 seconds, anyways, before it teetered over to the other side. But still - this was huge!!

"Yes, Tom!!" I practically shouted.

After a few more minutes, Tom was able to hold himself in an upright position in the armchair, where he managed to stay, though his muscles were shaking with the effort. Once that herculean task had been accomplished, he tried to speak again. "Thhhhhh" is all that came out.

Rachel snorted and I elbowed her hard in the ribs. "Ow! Ok sorry, sorry Tom. You're doing great".

Tom managed to form a tiny smile. "Thhh...thanks, g-g..g-guys." He managed, weakly, voice wavering somewhere between a whisper and his normal tone." Then he collapsed back in the chair, breathing hard. Rachel and I moved in to help him up and I could see that he was crying from the frustration. It must have been so incredibly difficult to do what he had just done, however small the task seemed to us on the outside. 

A knock came at the door.

"Who is it? Not now!" Rachel snapped.

"It's Cassie! Everything okay??" the voice came from the other side of the door. I immediately felt relief. I hadn't seen her much either, these past few days. Rachel looked at me and I nodded. "Come in, Cassie!" she said.

The three of us stood there trying to figure out the best strategy to get Tom from the chair back to the bed. Secretly, perhaps prematurely, I had hoped he would be able to do it on his own after the ease of which he had gained control of his mouth for that brief instant. I brought the wheelchair over from the corner and we started to grab his arms and load him into it. "L-llll-let go," he said weakly, but clearly, and his arm that I was holding spasmed abruptly. I was so startled that I dropped it, and he fell forward, onto the floor.

"Oh god, I'm so sorry!" I yelped, rushing to help him. Shit. He had no way to put his arms out front to break his fall, and he fell directly onto his shoulder. That had to have hurt. I knew Tom hated this right now, despised it so much. Though it was different this time, he was helpless again. And I had seen it in his thoughts - he felt weak, that his inability to get through to his own body meant he was weak, by his measurements. Getting used to my help had been a huge step, but I knew he didn't feel that same level of comfort with the others, even the doctors. He feared that that was how we saw him, as some kind of living rag doll, and more than anything, he was scared. Scared that he wouldn't get better. And that's why he overcompensated with his bravado during our thought-speak conversations. 

But I also knew how determined he was. I read it in his mind and saw it on his face, even now. He seemed lit with a different fire this time. I thought about calling the doctors in to help, but refrained, knowing that a bigger audience would only make him more upset.

"Guys, come on, help him up." I ordered. Rachel and Cassie nodded as the three of us moved to pick him up from under his armpits. We situated him in the wheelchair and I leaned down to look into his eyes, crouching down to his eye level and putting my hands on both his shoulders. "Tom, trust me, I get it. You were amazing just now. But you're not ready yet." I said, firmly.

"Ah, there's our big, serious leader", Rachel said. I shot her a look.

Tom's eyes glistened. He was so frustrated, and so miserable with his condition. It broke my heart to witness. He was only 19; he should be at college by now, drinking in some frat house, playing basketball with his friends, travelling, having the time of his young life.

But he was stuck here, in this stark hospital room, with his younger brother morphing the very same thing that ruined his life just to help him brush his teeth. If anything, this was going to be a battle of spirit, one that he'd have to fight every second of every day. I found myself wondering how many times I would have to do this for him. We were four days in, and while we viewed it as a temporary solution, neither of us imagined doing this every day for weeks let alone months.

I felt a sick dread. What if me doing things for him wasn't actually helping him regain that muscle memory? Would this be our lives now?

"Hey Jake, you good?" Rachel asked kindly, once Tom had been settled back in the bed. I shook my head, realized I must have looked pained by all the thoughts that were running through my head like a stampede of bison. "Yeah, I'm just thinking... I mean... this _can't_ be the only way to do things. He was able to speak so perfectly that one time, so the connections are still there. There has to be something else we can try." I said with determination. 

"Like what?" Rachel asked. "Like, morphing something else to see if the instincts will let him move?"

I shook my head. "No, no, we actually tried that before. He was able to morph me, but once he got there, same thing. Also, there's nothing wrong with his actual body - it's clearly a mental thing."

"Jake!", Cassie hissed. "Be more sensitive", she nodded her head in Tom's direction. He was propped up in the bed, staring at us.

I mentally slapped myself. Tom was so motionless that I frequently forgot that he could still hear and see us. That sounded awful.

"Wait, wait a second" Cassie said suddenly. "You said you hoped the morph's instincts would instruct him how to move, right?"

"Yeah", I said, sullenly. "It didn't work though, probably because there changing into me wasn't that big of a difference from his current self."

Cassie looked excited now. "But that's just it! _You_ were similar to him. Your body. What if he morphed something whose instincts were dependent on learning how to move??"

Rachel and I just stared. I pondered what she was saying but couldn't make the pieces fit. What did that even mean? Rachel apparently felt the same because she said. "Cassie, just say whatever you're thinking", the impatience in her voice palpable.

"I'm saying..." Cassie lowered her voice. "I'm saying, when I morphed Aftran and infested Mr. Tidwell, I had no idea what I was doing. I couldn't figure out how to make his hand move or anything. But the yeerk did. So I just kind of let its instincts take over and it was kind of like riding a bike".

"Like a middle-aged bike with a flat tire and a terrible mustache" Rachel muttered. Still bitter about that B- he had given her in 8th grade history, I guess.

Cassie and I both snorted laughter for a second, but caught ourselves. This was not a subject to be discussed lightly! But still, I coudn't help but appreciate that we could take ourselves a little less seriously, now that our lives weren't on the line.

Then it dawned on me. "So wait, you're saying... we should try to get Tom to morph a yeerk and see if the instincts will teach him how to move again??" I demanded. It was brilliant. Terrifying and brilliant. Something we hadn't thought of before; but then again, that was Cassie, always seeing the possibility in everything. Nothing was ever a dead end for her, and everything had a creative solution. 

"That's exactly what I'm saying", Cassie responded. "But, there's no guarantee it'll work, and of course, someone has to volunteer, and there's always the risk that -"

"He can infest me" Rachel interrupted, seriousness in her tone. "Jake, I'm sure all of this has been extremely taxing on you. And I'm sorry I wasn't here more often to help out. I can handle it".

Cassie looked uneasy. "Rachel's kind of right Jake. I mean, you've already been in his head - would it be traumatizing for both of you if he couldn't control the yeerk and had to see all of the things that you thought and did during the war?"

"But how is that different from -" I interrupted. But then: "Oh." I got it. She was referring to that time when I had been captured and made a controller myself, by none other than Tom's old yeerk. By astronomical odds, I had come face to face with the creature behind the horror my brother had endured during those initial stages of the war. I had seen things, learned things I wished every day I could forget... I shuddered at the experience. And all of the horrors that we had endured since.

She was right. I didn't need to add this to Tom's plate on top of everything else, or to make any of this about me.

I sighed and turned to Rachel, about to concede. But then, Tom said "No". Faintly, quietly. But he didn't stutter this single word.

We all turned to look at him. His eyes were focused, the tears gone.

I looked at him. "No to morphing the yeerk, or no to Rachel hosting you?" I asked.

"No..to...Rachel." Tom gasped. "Has...to...b-be...you, Jake." He smiled weakly. "It's...only....fair....right?"

I laughed uneasily, still not totally comfortable with this idea. "Tom, are you sure? I mean, you're not scared about what you're going to find? About the things I did.. I mean.. I -" I swallowed, hard, knowing that the truth had to come out, sooner or later. "Right up until we freed you, I was going to kill you, Tom. I almost did. I thought that was the only way. Are you sure you want to be... to see all of that? Not to mention everything else?" I swallowed again, feeling the blood leaving my face.

I met Tom's gaze, and my brother stared back, measured, but serious.

"Yes." He said.


	6. The Theory

To say I was extremely nervous about what we were about to do would have been the understatement of the century. 

Two days had passed since that initial conversation, in which I agreed to let Tom try using the yeerk morph to relearn how to use motor functions on his own. I was happy to help, and would do just about anything for him - except this. Until recently. And then, only because I felt like I had been left with no choice. I owed it to him to give him this shot, and it wouldn’t be fair of me to place the burden on anybody else, even Rachel, who had offered and was also family. I felt a bit guilty at how relieved I'd felt when she initially volunteered. To be honest, I think I would've let her go through with it had Tom not interjected.

That's how freaked I was.

Cassie, the doctors, and Mr. Tidwell - who we’d lost touch with during the war, but who enthusiastically answered our call and agreed to help in any way he could - were all present. Though there were quite a few Peace Movement yeerks undergoing training at the hospital for almost this exact purpose, we didn’t know them well enough to trust them fully just yet; and besides, all of them knew exactly who Tom had been during the war, what “he’d” done, and still harbored some residual discomfort with him. Understandably so.

Anyways, we were all there to map out exactly how this was going to go and help Tom prepare for what to expect. Rachel had insisted on being part of everything, but didn’t have any firsthand experience to contribute, so she sat in that corner armchair playing on her phone as the three of us took turns telling Tom everything we knew. 

We told him about what to expect with the initial morph, how it felt to enter the ear, the painkiller, the "electricity", all of it. The rush of memories, how he’d have the power to sift through my memory at a rapid pace if he so chose, but that even yeerks couldn’t control what they saw, especially if the host was thinking about it in real-time.

The senses - _oh_ , the _senses_. The feeling of seeing after being blind for so long. How he might be swept up in it. I realized how the sensation of movement might feel the same for him as it did for the yeerk, since he'd been fairly immobile for a good amount of time. If, of course, he was able to actually do it.

We talked about how different parts of the brain tapped into different motor functions and capabilities and knowledge. Like accessing a really messy, jumbled library. With time, he’d be able to fine-tune his control over those different areas.

“With time”. I felt the dread settling in my stomach as Mr. Tidwell said those words. This was not something I wanted to drag out over _any_ period of time whatsoever; I mean, I was so deeply unsettled about doing this even once. The entire time, I was absolutely terrified and uncomfortable and on the verge of backing out. But I knew I couldn’t do that do Tom, not when he’d been so explicitly clear. Not when this insane thing we were about to do could be his only shot. And after everything he’d gone through during the time I was fighting but powerless to save him, I felt like I owed him so deeply.

I still harbored that sense of guilt, even now. 

After the fact, I’d pondered all the ways I could’ve saved him earlier - kidnapping him and bringing him to the Hork Bajir valley once we’d established relations with them, holding him captive while Erek played him at the pool during that time we had to go away for 4 days for Grandpa G’s funeral. I ruminated with a deep sense of regret that the fact that I'd known but didn't act for so long meant I had robbed him of time and helped sink him further into the hole we had fished him out of. What would’ve happened if we’d saved him a year ago?? Would he still have been functional by then? All of this might have been prevented. All I knew then was that if this didn't work, I would never forgive myself. Because if Tom couldn't recover, it was because he got this way due to my inaction. It was my fault he was like this in the first place. _My_ fault. I did this to him.

My mind was all over the place, these negative thoughts and panic giving way to a steady fear as it sunk in what was about to happen. He was about to see everything. _Everything_. Even the thoughts I was having now. Of course I was embarrassed and ashamed of who I’d been - who I’d had to be - during the war. I had become a murderer and a ruthless tactician by the age of 16, and I wasn’t proud of that.

My heart was beating so fast, and I suddenly felt as though I might vomit. 

I realized I must have looked ill because everyone was looking at me funny by the time I tuned back in. But they knew, and they understood exactly how I felt. Especially Cassie. I knew she was scared for me, not only because of the potential biological repercussions (like myself becoming paralyzed, or Tom somehow not being able to leave my ear), but because lingering behind every person's thoughts was whether Tom would be able to handle what he saw - within my memories and within myself.

I could also see concern and guilt in Tom’s eyes. Of course he didn’t want to do this, I knew he didn't. It was downright terrifying. What if he reverted back to his new state while he was in my head, and wasn’t able to get out?? That thought sunk in. He’d be a yeerk nothlit, and I’d be practically immobile and powerless.

 _SNAP OUT OF IT, JAKE!_ I ordered myself.

I knew it was my responsibility to always think of the worst-case scenario, but this was a downright scary one. 

I looked over and saw that Illim had exited Tidwell’s head, and he had been placed in Tom’s open hand. The acquiring process was taking place - this was happening. Cassie came up next to me and murmured, “Jake, you don’t have to do this. I can morph you and let him do it to me, if it makes him feel more comfortable.” I appreciated her offering, and I knew she was fully aware of all the risks. If it went wrong, this whole experiment could damage both Tom and I both unforeseeably and irreparably, physically and mentally. 

“Thanks Cassie, but you know the risks. If he gets stuck, you won’t be able to morph back and neither will he.”

She knew this, of course. But she was so desperate to protect me, knowing the burden I already carried. I'm ashamed to admit that for a moment, I almost wished I could let her. She nodded wordlessly, her expression uneasy but understanding and full of kindness. She squeezed my hand. “I’ll be right here the entire time.” 

I smiled weakly and squeezed back. “I’m counting on it.”

Finally, it was time. Rachel got up from the chair and came over, squeezing my shoulder and giving me an encouraging smile. But her eyes did not reflect the same confidence. 

I looked at Tidwell before we got started. “So… there’s no confirmed way to expel a yeerk from someone’s head without a Vanarx, right?” I had to prepare for the worst, and he must’ve known. Mr. Tidwell nodded, and replied sounding very much like the teacher I had always known him as: “unfortunately, there isn’t, Jake. Outside of the maple ginger oatmeal, but…. you know what happens there. It’s not pretty.” I did know. Maple ginger oatmeal might be a way for me to regain control in case Tom couldn’t, but it would also make us both go insane and potentially lock him in my head permanently. That wasn't really a better alternative in any case.

Rachel chimed in, “we called Ax too, just to see about this Vanarx situation - he said that unfortunately they’re very hard to find on the Yeerk Homeworld and not easy to wrangle once you do. He did say he'd try and learn more, but.... I guess I don't know how helpful that's going to be at this point.” 

"It could be weeks or months before we were able to get one here for us to acquire," Cassie agreed, softly.

I nodded. None of us wanted to wait that long, and it might not even be safe for Tom to have to. He could deteriorate in that time for all we knew.

Great.

So we really were going in blind, with no exit strategy. I had to be brave and do this before I backed out. It was greater than my own fear, my own pride, my own shame - it could potentially give Tom a chance. And I’d never place this burden or risk on anyone else. It would kill me.

Tom looked at me one last time, and I could see the fear in his eyes too. “Y-you sure?” he mustered quietly. 

I nodded, putting on the brave face I had donned before so many battles, so many hopeless missions. “Yes, but don’t make me do anything dumb.” I joked, laughing a little to ease both of our minds. 

And then, we got started. I looked away while he morphed.

Tom managed the morph just fine; after all, he had done it before with me (when he'd morphed me, that is). I walked over to sit in the armchair, which would support me in case Tom wasn’t able to move once he reached my senses. It was way better than the bed, which was already several feet off the ground and definitely would not allow for much movement at all. 

They all gathered around: Mr. Tidwell, Cassie, Rachel… and Tom’s primary physician, Dr. Mortimer, who stood off in the corner of the room at our request, silently observing. For medical purposes, of course. We didn’t know what he knew or what he would be able to do, but it was nice to have someone in the room who might at least know a little something about biology, because we sure as hell were winging it.

Also, he had brought in a ventilator, which stood menacingly in the center of the room in case something went horribly wrong and I wasn’t able to breathe.

This precaution turned out to be very valid, as I later learned.

Cassie held the dark slug in her hand. No bigger than a few inches. I felt such a strong revulsion at the sight, and had to swallow my emotion again as I reminded myself that it was Tom. It was wriggling a bit, which I guess was promising. There was no turning back now. 

She looked into my eyes - her gaze full of concern, and even, I thought, a little fear - and asked me one more time: “Jake, are you really sure? You don’t have to do this - we can find another alternative.”

I nodded, and closed my eyes, steeling myself as tears threatened to burst out of my eyes. “Just do it.” 

Seconds later, I felt the cold, slimy presence at the entrance of my left ear, followed by shooting pain that lasted for longer than I remembered with Temrash, and longer than Cassie had described it would. I was still in control and the pain registered on my face for sure - I think I gasped a little. Everyone looked really concerned - immediately, Rachel's and Cassie's hands were on both of mine, for comfort, but also to keep me steady.

And then, finally... sweet relief as the pain subsided. This must be the painkiller. 

I felt some tiny bit of relief, knowing that if he was able to use any of the yeerk’s functions, like digging through my ear and releasing painkiller, he at least had some control. I wondered why that was. Maybe because their anatomy was so simplistic, and there was almost no other stimuli for the yeerk brain to sense that moving was essentially the only thing it ever really had to focus on? 

The pressure built in my head, growing stronger and stronger until, after what felt like an eternity, but was probably only 5 minutes (which was longer than most yeerks take, but I had to give him credit for figuring it out in the end), the pressure subsided. The loss of control wasn’t gradual like Mr. Tidwell and Cassie had described, but all at once. All of a sudden, I couldn’t breathe. But I couldn’t move either. I couldn’t struggle or fight the impulse or gasp for breath. 

I have been through hell and back. But let me tell you - nothing terrified me more than how I felt just then.

Nothing.

It was like being drowned alive while being locked in a straitjacket, unable to even open your eyes. The only other time I had ever felt even remotely close to this was when I first fell into the yeerk pool, nearly suffocated by the boiling sludge, which ultimately led to my infestation by Temrash. 

I was totally panicked. <Tom, are you there? You have to breathe! BREATHE!> I screamed in my mind. 

A moment later, I gasped. Or at least, my body did. I guess since it was an impulse I already had, Tom just had to tap the yeerk’s instinct and act on it. I felt myself breathing heavily for a few moments, unsure whether it was my doing or his. Were we that in sync? Had he somehow figured out how to give up control? 

<Oh my god Jake, I am so sorry> I heard Tom’s pained voice as my heart pounded frantically. <I got disoriented and caught up in the senses and forgot where I was for a second. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. We're okay now.>

<Hey, it’s fine> I managed, trying to sound understanding. <It would be really swell if you didn’t kill me, though. How are you feeling?>

I’m sure he saw right through the facade - of course he did, because my thoughts were laid bare as long as he was inside my head. We both chose to shoulder on as though we couldn't completely and totally feel each others' fear.

<Ok I think I’ve got the hang of breathing at least. But I could do that on my own before, so I guess it’s not much> Tom responded. I felt his wonder and also the hotspring of emotion that bubbled up. <Wow, midget. This is insane. Like being blind your whole life and finally learning how to see. I almost…> he trailed off, then stopped.

<What?> I probed. <Almost what?>

<I almost see why yeerks are so desperate for hosts. I guess... I mean.. being blind and numb like that was terrifying. Worse than how I felt before I morphed, even>, Tom admitted. I could feel him struggling to find the words without acknowledging that any part of what they did to him was justified.

<Yeah, well, you always did have a strong sense of empathy>. I said kindly. <I've always admired that about you. Do you think you can move?>

<Ummm I don’t know. Let me try.> he said, sounding very unsure and uneasy.

Suddenly, my hand lifted slightly off the armchair. To both our surprised, the movement was slow and tentative, but not shaky. He - or I, at least - didn’t tremble. What a strange feeling. It reminded me of those rare times where I slept on my arm wrong and would wake up to it almost fully asleep, numbed, pins and needles. Usually I would have to shake it out a few times to get the blood flowing again. But this time, while the sensation felt like that, the arm moved normally. I watched everything as if it were happening on a movie screen, not even able to choose where to look, or move my eyeballs.

<Wow>, Tom almost whispered, his shock and pain and excitement melding into a flurry of emotion that just overtook my every other thought and feeling. <This is insane. That was so easy! I mean, I haven’t been able to…wow. It was so natural>. 

He tried moving the other hand, and it did. My eyes suddenly shifted to rest on Cassie, then Rachel, then Mr. Tidwell. All were extremely concerned. “How do you feel?” Cassie asked tentatively. I’m sure the question was intended for both of us. 

<Tom, can you speak?> I asked gently. 

I felt him concentrating immensely. My lips quivered and brow wrinkled. 

<Don’t overthink it> I advised. <Just let the yeerk’s instincts take over. It’s like breathing.>. I winced mentally as I realized that he’d probably already seen things he hadn’t wanted to while he was messing around trying to figure out my motor functions. I could feel him flipping through my brain, as though it were a file cabinet. Any time a memory surfaced, I could sense him trying to skim past it. Sometimes he got a sneak preview of whatever it was, glimpses of the war, of the pool, of other hosts. It made sense that those memories were top of mind then - after all, having a yeerk in my head definitely triggered them.

Then:

“Yeah, I think I’ve got it”, my voice suddenly said. I sat bolt upright, so quickly that it pinched a small nerve in my back and I felt a brief sting of pain. But it was almost as though the area was numb to me, as if I had taken a bath in Novocaine beforehand. “Ow!” my voice yelped, face contorted in a brief expression of pain.

<Ah, sorry Jake!>, Tom apologized. <I’m still figuring this out.>. 

<All good>, I replied. Though I had expected and signed up for this, it was a _very_ scary feeling to actually be in this position. The total lack of control. I was frozen, a puppet. I couldn’t believe Tom had done this for over 3 years, had been subjected to it. Even though it was my brother inside my head, I felt deeply uncomfortable. I could recognize how brave he had been for even allowing me to do this to him.

“Tom??” Rachel asked, rushing to my side. “Is that you?”

“Yeah… it’s me.” Tom forced a shaky breath. I could feel that the pinched nerve was still painful even though I didn't feel the extent of it myself, and mentally I rolled my eyes at the fact that it would be me having to deal with it later. Of course, if it didn't go away on its own, I'd probably just morph it off. Perks of discovering an alien in an abandoned construction site and fighting a secret war for 3 years, I guess.

“It looks like you're getting the hang of it," Cassie said, incredulous. Then, concern overtook her expression. "How are you doing? How is Jake?” 

All the while, my eyes tracked between the different faces staring back at me, then turned to focus on my hands, which he brought up to my face. He turned them over back and forth, stretching my arms out, flexing them, reveling in the movement. I could sense his wonder, his emotion, and also his embarrassment. 

<Hey Jake, I realized I forgot to warn you, the same way you would give me a heads up.> Tom thought guiltily. <Is it okay if I, um... speak and stuff?>

<Don't worry about it, go ahead> I responded, grateful he'd at least remembered that I was there too in the midst of what was no-doubt a wondrous, even miraculous experience for him.

“I’m fine actually. Wow, I really forgot what this was like.” Even the cadence of my voice was different, emphasizing different syllables and full of more emotion than I'd ever used under normal circumstances. I almost sounded completely different, didn’t recognize it. Which was wild.

I guess I had heard Tom’s voice a good amount over the past week, but it had been _my_ inflection, my tone, my speaking habits.

I realized that aside from the few phrases he had managed to get out, this was the first time I was hearing him speak for himself - in 3.5 years.

3.5 _years_.

So, yeah, this was a big moment.

“And Jake?” Cassie pressed again. “How’s he handling everything?”

“Umm, one sec”, Tom said.

Then, he switched to thoughtspeak: <How are you, midget? Is this too much, too fast?> Tom asked, suddenly very concerned. I knew he had likely been so caught up in the rush of senses - not only as dictated by the yeerk’s greedy instincts, but from his own. I tried not to begrudge him this exciting moment, but it was hard not to feel at least a bit upset at how quickly he had taken control, how comfortable he'd become so quickly. Despite that one instance he'd remembered I was there too, he had barely even stopped to consider - or asked - how I felt. Didn’t he realize how insane this was to me? After what I’D gone through as a controller? He was too comfortable, and it made me mad. 

Uh oh. I couldn’t censor the emotions as they surfaced. Couldn’t take back the memories they conjured. The fact that I'd been a controller too at one point. My time with Temrash, what he’d shown me of Tom, how miserable and desperate I’d felt. How traumatized I was by that experience, even now. And how deeply painful it was to be back in that position. He saw them all.

<Oh my god>. Tom was shocked to the core - I could feel it. His thoughtspeak was quiet, my pain flowing into his. 

<Jake, oh my god… I had no idea. I’m so sorry, I’ll … I’ll come out. We don’t need to do this>. I felt my eyes start to water. His emotions - or maybe it was both of ours - reflected onto my face.

I immediately felt really bad for my little outburst. Poor Tom. He had gone through hell and back. For 3.5 years he couldn’t tell me or our parents he loved me, couldn’t play basketball, couldn’t so much as stretch his arms or look at the face of someone he cared about or brush his teeth on his own. Couldn’t grow up. Who the hell was I to suddenly be so delicate, after everything he’d been through?? Hadn’t I promised to help in any way?? I was suddenly so ashamed of my selfishness.

Selfish. That’s what I was. 

<You’re not selfish, Jake>, Tom said, reading my thoughts as I had them. <I am so sorry you went through that, and I get it. I can sense how raw all of this is for you so I don’t think now’s the time to unpack it, but I’m gonna leave your head. I hope you know the last thing I want to do is cause you pain>. A few tears were falling down onto my cheeks by now; I barely felt them.

<Gosh, I get why you didn’t want to do this and I’m so sorry I forced you. I’m so, so sorry, Jake.> Tom continued, sounding anguished. <And I'm sorry for the tears now>.

No, no, no. This wasn’t right. He had finally gained something and I was going to just snatch that away because I felt uncomfortable?? What about _his_ discomfort, every day?? I wouldn’t be able to sleep if I backed down now, and doing this would discount everything I had worked to achieve over the entirety of the war.

Of course, he read my thoughts as I had them, but I mustered up the conviction for both of us. <No, Tom, don’t leave. You can’t stop, not when we’ve come this far.> I finally managed.

<I’m sorry about all this, sorry you had to see all of that. God, I’ve been doing this to you for days, what right do I have to back out now??> My resolve grew stronger as I "said" the words. <We’re in this together, you and me. Do whatever you need to do. I'm here for you, Tom.>

<No, I won’t do it. Jake, this is hurting you. You can’t lie to me. Literally, you can’t - I can see what you’re thinking.> Tom responded, still sounding deeply pained.

<Then you also know just how far I’d go for you, Tom> I said again, more firmly this time. <Look, I - I just panicked for a second, that’s all. This all brought up some bad memories, which I was so afraid that you would see. But it’s not you. It was never you, Tom. I hope you know that>

<Jake… are you sure? You're still really hurt by what _he_ did, I know it. The last thing I want is to bring up that trauma.>

<Yes, I’m sure. Do whatever you need to do. I’ll be here cheering you on. I mean it.> I said. Then, wryly, <I’m kind of a captive audience, anyways>.

<Ugh, I hate to think about that last part. Okay, but Jake - say the word, and we’ll be done. Promise me, you’ll tell me.> Tom said, his emotions still kind of uncertain, but so immensely grateful. 

That in and of itself made this whole ordeal worth it.

<I promise, Tom. I mean, come on - how many chances will you get to be this awesome? The hero who saved the world?>

He laughed. <And a midget! Thanks, Jake. I’ll do my best to embarrass you in front of everyone we know.>

<You’d better not -> I started.

Then, my voice spoke up, and my mouth formed a mischievous little smile. “The midget’s fine - he freaked out for a second, which is understandable. Before any of you say anything - trust me, I offered to stop. But he insisted. So I guess let's try to make this as painless as possible.”

<Wow, did they really need to know everything?> I grumbled.

Tom used my mouth to grin. “He’s embarrassed that I made him sound like a wimp just now.” 

I groaned inwardly. But I couldn’t hide my own amusement. I knew what this was - he was joking to try and distract me, to take my mind off of the fear.

<Is it working?> Tom asked, obviously having heard. <It's pretty serious, what we're doing. Trust me, midget, I know that. But c'mon, when am I gonna get this chance to razz you like this again??>

<Ha ha ha. Take advantage while you can - I'm already regretting this.>, I mused sarcastically. But I had to admit that whatever I had to go through to achieve it, it was _so_ good to have my brother back.

Rachel was smiling. “I guess your theory worked, Cassie!” 

Cassie was still quiet, eyes wide, her mouth a little agape. “I guess so”. I don't think her expression had changed the entire time.

It probably to a degree was jarring for them too. Seeing me speak in a way that I didn’t normally - looking the same, but being completely different. 

"Do you want to try walking?" Mr. Tidwell asked.

"I guess I could", Tom said.

I wondered if he could, given how easily he seemed to grasp control of my arms and face and voice. <You doubt me, midget?> Tom fake-mocked. Then quickly, he followed that with <joking, joking. I think I can give it a try, if you're okay with it?>. I was nervous too, but I guess if we face-planted it would be his problem, not mine. Not until later, at least.

That image was incredibly amusing to me, for some reason.

"Jake doesn't think I can do it, so now I've obviously gotta prove him wrong" Tom informed everyone. That got some smiles. Though to an outsider his behavior might seem crass and insensitive given how invasive and delicate all of this was, Tom was really just doing what he did best - using humor to ease everyone into an obviously and otherwise uncomfortable situation. Distracting us, and maybe even himself as well. Though he'd done it with me when I was in his head - which I noticed and appreciated - he finally had a platform for it with the others.

He really was doing an amazing job at lightening the mood, trying to make things feel just a little bit easier for all of us. To forget the seriousness or implications of this whole experiment. <Hey, you're on. I want you to prove me wrong!>. I playfully jibed back.

<Okay, here I go!>

Suddenly my feet planted firmly on the ground and I felt myself standing up. Everyone rushed to my side, ready to catch "me" if I fell. The journey from the chair to a standing position felt like an eternity, and Tom had to steady himself a few times. But it turns out he didn't need the help.

He took a step. And then another step. He walked the length of the room and then whipped around to face the others.

"Wow", he said out loud. "I haven't done this on my own in... oh god, in forever. I really forgot what it feels like to walk and talk and _move_."

He stretched my arms out as he emphasized that last bit, almost yelling with glee and overwhelming emotion, which made my voice waver. Then he grinned at the others, who stood frozen in awe. "Guys, I can move!!" he practically shouted. "I feel like a person again."

Then, I felt it. A lump was rising in my throat, one I had no control over. Tom's emotions were haywire at this point, powerful and excited and melancholic. Melancholic, I'd guessed, because he was realizing all that he had missed out on - all the experiences and changes and tribulations of growing up. He had been an athlete who until now, couldn't use his own body. And now, the gravity of being free was hitting him all at once. Really and truly free. 

Then, Tom completely broke down. Or I guess, he did through me. But they were happy tears, and he smiled through the sobs. "Guys, I'm free," my voice whispered, broken and unrecognizable.

I can't remember the last time I had truly bawled, and I guessed the others couldn't remember either, because they were simultaneously amazed and completely unsure of how to handle what they were looking at. I almost felt guilty as a bystander to all of this because they weren't my tears. It wasn't like I could "hug" Tom, and I was honestly speechless as to what was unfolding. 

To be honest, emotion had never really been my thing - I guess I had learned to be strong for all of us. For so long. I never had the opportunity to show any kind of sadness or uncertainty because the others had counted on me to be the voice of strength and optimism for all of us.

Maybe I'd also forgotten what it was like to be a person, to cry. 

Finally, Rachel came over and wrapped me in a hug.

"You are free, Tom. You're going to be okay." she whispered, squeezing us tighter.

Tom wrapped my arms around her. "I know, I know it is." Then he straightened up and wiped the tears away from my eyes, putting on a brave smile.

"Thank you. Thank you all for giving me this chance and for being here to support me. Especially Jake."

"Of course, Tom." Cassie replied, smiling and taking my hand. "Okay, I have to admit, it's so interesting. I mean, you seem so different. Or, I guess, Jake seems so different. I can't wrap my head around it," Cassie said, her scientist's curiosity breaking through her composure.

"Do I?" Tom asked, a grin spreading across my face. "Maybe that's because I'm actually fun!"

<Hey! I so am fun!> I protested.

Everyone cracked up at that. Then I noticed Rachel's guilty look as our eyes landed on her.

<Oh, I know that look, she's _definitely_ hiding something. Call her out!> I told Tom.

"Hey Rach, Jake says he knows you're hiding something and to just spill it already," Tom relayed out loud.

She nervously shifted a little, but a smile spread across her face as Tom used her old nickname.

“Can't get anything by him, can I? Hey Jake, don’t kill me, but… I told Marco what we were doing today and he insisted on coming. For moral support, of course.” Rachel said, grinning.

I groaned inwardly. <Of all the days? Really, Rachel?? He's going to have a field day and make this into one big joke.> I was kind of upset. Despite Tom's best efforts to lighten the mood, this was meant to be a scientific experiment, not a joyride or a fun little "activity" that it seemed to be turning out to be. Despite being deeply uncomfortable at my lack of control and privacy, I'd tolerated the joking around, for Tom's sake. And Marco would understand the seriousness, no doubt.

For about a minute.

But more than anything, I knew he and Tom would find a way to make this more of a hell to me than it already was. Even if this all ended up okay, with Tom having gained a lot of his motor skills back and my body intact, I knew that my poor dignity would never make it out of this alive.


	7. Center Stage

Marco had been concerned about me - we texted a ton, and he was actually making an immense effort to check in on me and make sure I wasn’t alone. He’d been running the talk show circuit pretty much by himself for the past few weeks, accompanied sometimes by Tobias or Ax (or even both - but then, Kimmel’s show was worthy of the full trio’s presence).  
Of course, he was completely enjoying it. Loved the fame, the attention he was receiving from girls he’d never dreamed of having a shot with before the war, the endorsement deals, the calls from the President. 

And, he was very good at it. 

Marco was eloquent and engaging and witty, and essentially, the perfect guest. He was able to answer all of the probing and sometimes painful questions in a way that made you feel like you were talking to a friend, and was good at deflecting the ones that were downright uncomfortable. 

I was honestly kind of grateful to have him running our PR and taking the attention away from me and where I was. But the thought now occurred to me that he’d been followed around by paparazzi for weeks - they knew his go-to morphs and would probably follow him here. I felt a tinge of dread. The last thing I’d wanted or needed was paparazzi, or anyone knowing about Tom until he was ready to address it himself.

Tom, of course, read my thoughts and spoke softly, steeling my face into a more serious expression and focusing our gaze on Rachel. “Rach, Jake just made a really good point. Marco has paparazzi following him everywhere. Can you imagine what kind of story this would be if they came here?”

Cassie nodded and turned to me - us. “Agreed, I know you didn’t mean any harm, Rachel, but it was kind of irresponsible not to let us know so we could at least have prepared.”

Rachel turned pale and her face sunk. “I didn’t think about that,” she admitted. “Ok, um - I can fix this - let me just text him, I’ll tell him not to come”. Her face was red. Rachel rarely admitted she had done anything wrong, so this was a surprise. She started typing furiously on her phone.

Then, we heard familiar voice say, “too late. But don’t worry guys, you’re lucky I’m smarter than Xena.”

We all turned towards the voice. Marco stood there, leaning against the wall by the door, grinning back at us. Everyone was in shock.

Rachel hung her head in faux-shame, and I could feel my own smile coming on - it was good to hear Marco’s voice. Maybe that was a reflex that Tom had absently acted on. I’d definitely missed my best friend.

“What the - I mean, when… how did you get in here??” Cassie demanded.

Marco shrugged. “A really good disguise. You know those reallllyy convincing ones celebrities all have that makes _People Magazine_ totally not recognize them and put them in a story of ‘celebrities, they’re just like us?’ With the big sunglasses and a hoodie? That one.” He was grinning and came over to us, obviously very pleased with the shock value of his entrance. 

“Morphed fly in the elevator and was able to get into the room when Dr. Clipboard here opened it earlier. By the way - “ he turned to Dr. Mortimer (who I’d honestly forgotten was still there) scribbling away on his clipboard, and jerked up as he was mentioned - “you guys should really be better about sanitizing the, well, everything.”

Joking aside, he glanced at each of us and crossed his arms, sighing.

“And, as far as all your worries go - I had Tobias morph my osprey and lead them away as a decoy. They’ll be stuck in traffic on the way to San Bernardino for the next few hours.”

<Oh good, Tobias knows too> I grumbled. 

<Hey now, aren’t you guys supposed to be a team?> Tom gently responded.

<I guess. But this was supposed to be private - I mean, do you really want people knowing what we’ve been up to, what you’ve gone through?? I don’t think what we’re doing right now would be exactly well-received by anyone.> I demanded, growing a bit angry.

<Maybe I do, Jake> Tom responded quietly. <Maybe I’m not ashamed anymore of what I am. In fact, I’m proud to be recovering at all, and I… don’t think I care anymore who knows it.>

I was shocked. Tom had been so embarrassed when we first began his rehabilitation. Embarrassed and ashamed of the fact that he had been captured in the first placed. Mortified at all the things he’d done and said both in and outside of our presence, even though it hadn’t really been him. Sad that he’d been absolutely powerless to do anything at all. And heartbroken that he couldn’t even say he was sorry. And in some twisted way, embarrassed that we were helping him after seeing him as our enemy for so long - even if he himself wasn’t who we were fighting. He blamed himself for so much. 

Maybe coming to terms with all of this was the only real way to move forward - being open and honest and accepting of everything we had been and everything we were now. 

That’s what family was supposed to be for, right? And we were a family. Not just Tom and I (and even Rachel), but all of us Animorphs, who had had to trust each other with our lives.

<I know how pathetic I probably seem to you sometimes, midget. But sometimes it feels like you’re imposing a lot of your own worries on me, and that’s not fair. You need to ->

Tom and I’s conversation was cut short as Rachel’s voice cut in. “Hellloooo, you know it’s freaky every time you go silent”, she said, waving. Suddenly my eyes were focused on her; she’d moved to stand directly in front of my face. 

“I assume you guys are just talking all telepathically and everything but can you at least let us know so we don't think you're having a stroke?” 

"Oops, sorry," Tom responded. I felt my cheeks flush.

“Oh right, duh. The reason we’re here. So... it’s happened already?” Marco said good-naturedly, quickly looking around the room, presumably for Tom. "You guys did the thing?"

“Yup, and Tom’s doing great!” Cassie responded on our behalf. 

“Thriving, one might say”, Tom said with a mischievous grin.

Marco looked a little surprised, but then smiled at me - at Tom. “Well, hey! I knew you seemed different! You’ve smiled more in 5 minutes than Jake does in, like, an entire day. How are you, man?” 

Tom shrugged my shoulders. “Can’t complain. Actually I totally can. Midget won’t even let me morph his tiger.” 

<Hey, you didn’t even ask!> I argued, surprised. <And besides, why take the risk?! You have no idea how ->

<Chill, Jake. Just making a joke>, Tom interrupted, good-naturedly.

“That sounds like him”, Marco said, chuckling a little, then moving over to do one of those dumb ‘bro-hugs’ that involve slapping each others’ backs. I mentally cringed.

“You should know that Jake hates hugs,” Tom said. “And most human touch. He’s so uncomfortable right now.”

<Tom!! Stop it!> I interjected, starting to become annoyed and suddenly becoming very self-conscious that nothing I thought was hidden from his view.

“That’s not news,” Marco replied, looking us in the eyes. “That privilege is reserved exclusively for Cassie, right Jake?” 

Tom grabbed his hand in mind, reciprocating the intense eye contact. “And you, of course,” he said, twisting my voice into a dramatic, Shakespearean tone. “But Rachel only gets hugs on Tuesdays and full moons.”

I heard snorting, though I had no power to turn my head. Tom did that for me, whipping around. Rachel was cackling, and even Cassie was trying very hard to suppress a giggle.

<Oh my god, this is horrible> I said. <You’re the worst>. If I could’ve recused myself from the situation and withered away into nothingness, or left the room, I would have. 

<Lighten up, Jake. I’ve got 3 years of teasing you to make up for>, Tom said with glee. 

Marco was laughing and clapping his hands. “I’ve literally never seen Jake this fun. Please, do more things.” In that moment, I was so angry at him for encouraging this, and it was exactly what I was worried about.  
  
< _NO_ , Tom.> I protested, mad now. <This experiment is _over_ >. 

But Tom was thriving off the attention and he wasn't about to let up now that he finally was able to act himself.

“Dude, neither have I”, Tom grinned, ignoring me now, so caught up in his banter. Rachel’s phone was out now, and I presumed she was recording a video.

This was hell. I was in hell.

“Hey, smile!” Rachel demanded, pointing the phone at my face. 

Tom turned to face the camera, grinned and did a little curtsy. “Hi, mom!", he said brightly, blowing a kiss at the camera. "And hello to all my fans out there! It is I, Jake, the savior of the world. The leader of the Animorphs. All of you might be wondering how I did it. But the truth is, I had a secret weapon.” 

<Tom, I’m warning you…> I said threateningly, anxious at whatever he was about to say or do.

He ignored me again. Then, still grinning mischievously at Rachel’s camera, he slid over to Cassie and dropped down on one knee.

<This needs to end, _NOW_ >. I demanded, absolutely pissed.

Tom clasped Cassie’s hand in both of mine. She was frozen, unsure of how to react. I think even Rachel was starting to look a little uneasy, even if Marco was dying of laughter. “Cassie, my love, the light of my - ”

< _NO!!_ > I roared, firing every ounce of rage and willpower into the statement. I managed to seize control of my face for one second, freezing Tom in the middle of whatever embarrassing sentence he was about to utter. Even my hands shook a little, and Cassie slipped hers out of “my” grasp, staring in shock.

<Tom, that’s _ENOUGH_. Get _out_!!!> I was so angry, I couldn’t think clearly. It was one thing to make fun of me - but to drag Cassie into this was crossing a line. I couldn’t handle the teasing, not like this - and couldn’t believe that after all we’d gone through in even the last 45 minutes, Tom would have the audacity to touch upon something so delicate. My feelings for Cassie were deep and private. 

And to make her part of the joke!! To put that burden on her! It was an invasion of every type of privacy.

<Shit, midget, I’m sorry. I just though we were having fun…> Tom said meekly. 

<No, I’m not having fun at all. I can’t believe you’d do that to Cassie.> I seethed. <This has gone too far - we’re done for today.>

<Okay, okay. I get it. I’m really sorry, okay? I didn’t mean anything by it I promise. Let me just let the others know and I’ll leave your head>. Tom was apologetic; I could sense how bad he felt, and softened a little bit.

<Tom, that wasn’t cool. If we’re going to try and move forward with this, you can’t do things like that. It’s irresponsible and…and… _mean_.> I reprimanded him, wishing I could find a better word.

I wished I could’ve moved on but with that display, it seemed like he had enough practice to go off of for now. And I was very anxious to be free by now. I winced a little, as I realized that Tom would perceive that sentiment as me wanting to be rid of him, which I didn’t! I just wanted my body back.

<Don’t worry, Jake. I know what you mean.> Tom assured me, kindly. <And I think I’ll be fine. I have an idea at least of how to achieve some kind of control, so hopefully it'll translate over when I'm myself again. And hey… thank you. Thank you for this. I knew that it wasn't easy for you.>

<Yeah, Tom. Of course. Look, I’m sorry to be a Debbie Downer, you know? It’s just, when it comes to Cassie…> I trailed.

<I get it, midget, you don’t need to explain. That wasn’t right of me. And again - I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. Do you mind if I let the others know?>

<Of course>, I responded, trying to sound understanding. <Look, no rush. If there’s anything else you feel like you need to do that doesn’t involve making fun of me, go for it. Rachel’s fair game>. 

<Hah thanks, but I think I’ve got all I need for now.> Tom sent a mental smile. <Ok, letting them know.>

Then, my voice spoke up and I felt myself rising to my feet. “Hey guys, I'm sorry about all of that. Especially Cassie. As you saw just now, Jake’s pretty angry with me. And he’s right to be. I got caught up and thought I was being funny and took it a little too far,” Tom apologized, looking at each person individually. They all nodded. 

Cassie spoke up. “Hey, Tom, don’t worry about it - don't even think on it for another second, okay? We all know you were just trying to lighten the mood.”

Leave it to Cassie to be so understanding. 

<She's too good for you, midget.> Tom lightly teased, though not actually teasing at all.

<Trust me, I know> I replied, feeling a wave of affection for her.

Tom nodded my head and smiled gratefully. “Anyways, I guess we can call this experiment a success of sorts, right? I think I should probably call it a day and let Jake join us again. Hopefully I’ll be able to, uh… apologize in person.” 

“Can’t wait to see that,” Marco said quietly. Then I heard a pained _Oof_ as Rachel elbowed him. Hard, it seemed.

I couldn’t hide my amusement. 

Tom walked over to the armchair again and sat down in it. “Alright, here I go. Whatever happens - whether I’m able to regain control to the same extent… I just want to thank you guys for being here. This has just made me want to work harder to get back to my old self.” 

He smiled one last time at all of them, lingering, taking it in. 

<Thanks again Jake…. I’ll see you in a little>, Tom said.

Then I felt him disengaging. His presence in my mind faded until there was nothing but immense pressure in my eardrums. And then finally, the pressure subsided until I felt the cold, slimy presence drop from my ear onto the arm of the chair. 

Instinctively, reflexively, I gasped and shook my head, feeling violated. I noticed I was shaking a little. 

“Oh my god”, I breathed. “Oh my god.” Relief settled over me as I reveled in the freedom of breathing on my own.

Marco’s hand was on my shoulder and he looked like my concerned best friend. “Hey man, you alright?”. All I could do was nod, as I flexed my hands again, open and closed. Grateful to be fully myself again, grateful to be free. It absolutely blew my mind how my brother had been subjected to that for 3 years, and could suddenly empathize more with his detachment as a survival mechanism.

It had been a truly, truly awful feeling. 

“I’m fine, that was just… a lot," I said, managing a smile, though admittedly not a very convincing one.

Marco and Rachel nodded understandingly.

"I just wanted to say, that was really brave of you, Jake. I mean it." Rachel murmured, squeezing my shoulder. Marco nodded his agreement. "Totally."

"This might have been a turning point for Tom, Jake," Mr. Tidwell/Illim chimed in. I had almost forgotten he was there. "He's lucky to have you."

I forced myself to focus on the three concerned faces staring at me and nodded back, forcing an uneasy smile. "Thanks, just happy to be done."

Cassie had brought Tom over to the bed and he was in the process of demorphing. I stared over as the dark shape on the bed grew and sprouted limbs, waiting to see what would happen, if he would be able to retain that same feeling he’d had when he was me, and achieve anything beyond the little he was capable of before, and... be my brother again. The others followed my gaze.

And we waited.


	8. Chapter 8: Holding Our Breath

Guys!” Cassie whispered, clasping her hands together and leaning her chin on them. 

Still dazed and incredulous at what I had just gone through, I was the last to head over to Tom’s bed; Marco, Cassie, Rachel, Dr. Mortimer, and Mr. Tidwell’s bodies blocked my view. But I took a deep breath and mustered up the strength to get up from the armchair.

For the first time since we’d rescued him, Tom was sitting up on his own, his eyes shining. 

He was testing out his limbs, lifting his arms up and down, turning his hands over. “Wow”, he breathed. “It worked.”

Then he looked over to me, expression soft and full of gratitude. I could almost swear I caught a flash of pain in his eyes. “Hey, midget.” 

I smiled back, tightly. “Hey, Tom.” I was trying to look elated but the truth was, we had a journey ahead. I couldn’t get over the fact that though unintentional, he’d broken my trust and hurt my pride; and all circumstances aside, I wouldn’t be able to just let that go immediately - even though I really, really wanted to. Even though I wished I could. 

It wasn’t that I was actually mad at him - i just needed a little more time to process what had happened while he was in my head, as well as what he’d seen. It would no doubt be an uncomfortable conversation, but one that we would need to have. 

I guess I was just trying to brace myself. We’d have the conversation when it was time.

Tom swung his legs over the side of the bed, marveling in the fact that he was able to do so. His movements were a bit delayed, uncoordinated, imperfect. Emotion didn’t register in the same way; in fact, his face - all but the eyes - remained uncomfortably blank and detached. But at least he could move… that was something. We all watched as he slowly lowered his feet onto the ground, preparing to stand up. Somehow, I sensed he wasn’t quite ready for this yet, and rushed to his side just as he shakily rose to a standing position. 

He was wobbly, the whole movement - and the fact that he’d now had to support his own weight - didn’t come naturally to him anymore. 

He kept his arms at 90 degree angles out to his sides, trying to balance himself, and Rachel and I held him steady. The look on his face was pure concentration, eyes laser-focused on the wall in front of him. He took a step and almost fell, with Rachel and I moving to support him. 

“Guys, let me try”, he said, determination steeling his features. So we did: we let go.

He lurched forward, step by step, inch by inch. It might’ve seemed to an outsider that he was on an invisible balance beam. The 10-foot space between the bed and the wall felt eternal, and there were about two dozen times where I gave myself a heart attack thinking he would fall on his face. But he caught himself every time. Until finally, he reached the wall. Breathing hard he braced himself against it, turned, and eventually slumped down to a sitting position. For the next several seconds, he sat there panting, head tilted back and eyes closed. 

No one was sure what to say, so we just waited. . 

Opening his eyes finally, Tom tried to grin. “Talk about walking a mile in someone else’s shoes. That felt like a marathon this time around.” 

We all laughed. With what seemed like a great deal of effort, he tried to draw his knees underneath him to stand up again, but instead they just kind of flopped until eventually, Tom sighed and kind of hung his head. “I guess that’s all I’ve got today”, he muttered, disappointed.

“Hey, you’ve done amazingly.” I tried to reassure him, nodding at Rachel as the two of us each grabbed and arm and hoisted him up in one clean motion. “Yeah,” Rachel agreed. “Look how far you’ve come! You can speak in full sentences now!”

It was true. Though Tom’s face was oddly expressionless, the mask broken up only by a few brief twitches around his mouth and eyes, which I interpreted as his attempt at smiling, he was able to speak completely. Some words were a bit garbled, sure, and the cadence of his tone was irregular and didn’t translate as strongly as it did when he spoke through my body - but he could do it. 

We led him back over to the bed, supporting rather than carrying him this time around as he made his way there on shaky legs. He collapsed on it, breathing heavily - but instead of falling back onto the pillow, he was able to remain in a sitting position, legs hanging over the side. The blue eyes behind the otherwise-expressionless mask focused on me. 

“Hey midget, now that I can talk again, we should probably…” Tom trailed, suddenly looking down and unable to focus on me. 

I swallowed. “Yeah, Tom. Let’s talk.”

Cassie put a hand on my shoulder and nodded wordlessly, knowingly. “We’ll just go grab some food from downstairs…” Marco added as Rachel, Mr. Tidwell, and everybody else filed out of the room. I pulled up a chair by the bed and sat so we were facing each other.

When the door had shut and we were finally alone, Tom drew a shaky breath. “Jake, I’m so sorry-”

“Stop, you have nothing to be sorry for.” I cut him off. Not really sure if I completely meant it, but not wanting him to feel guilt regardless. 

“No, I do. And I am. Not just for abusing your trust when I was in your body, but for everything else I saw. And what you went through, with Temrash…”., he choked out. For the first time, the muscles in his jaw tightened a bit - the most expression I had seen him express thus far. There was so much pain and shame in his eyes I almost couldn’t look at him. He looked about to cry. He squeezed his eyes shut and a tear rolled down and a shudder wracked his back as he drew a deep, shaky breath. 

“Hey, Tom, don’t…stop…” I tried to console him, in such shock that all I could do was gently place my hand on his, and squeeze. He gave a weak squeeze back.

“It’s okay,” I said gently. “This is why I was so scared of you being in my head. I didn’t want you to find out about anything in that way, not before you and I could properly talk about it.” 

“Right,” Tom said. “I know that I forced this issue before you were ready. But if you wanted to talk about it now…”

I sighed and sat back down in the chair, mulling it over. Tom had been so strong for weeks. He’d relied on his humor and optimism to make it through some of the darkest stages of his recovery, which I now realized was a cover for just how angry, sad, and damaged he felt. This was the first time where all the missed years had begun to show; all of a sudden, my 19-year-old brother, the boy crying and in pain before me, seemed so young. Unfathomably young.

“Tom, I don’t want to hide anything from you. Is there anything you’d want to know that you didn’t already… find out?” I said, subtly drawing my finger up to indicate my head. 

Tom shook his head. “I just, can’t believe you went through that. All of this. Temrash broke me, Jake. He broke me. I could feel it when I was in your head just how much you pity me and I guess I can’t stop thinking about it.”

I nodded thoughtfully, painfully. 

“I know. He showed me. That was so early on, Tom…” I winced with pain. “It was horrible. He was horrible. But I think about that broken, scared guy you were…the guy he showed me… and who you are now, and I just don’t see the same person.” 

My voice was rising, and I leaned over to grasp both of his hands, forcing him to look me squarely in the eye. “You came out of this, Tom. We both did.” 

He and I both knew that a part of us never would. The nightmares might remain, the helplessness, the guilt, the fear. The war and all that we had done would be part of us forever. Maybe it would take both of us awhile to even be able to look at each other without seeing the enemy in some way, and I knew that from seeing it in my thoughts, he knew that too.

But I felt that he needed to hear my conviction. 

Tom nodded. “I guess there’s a part of me that always wonders if things will ever be the same between us. You used to look up to me, and now…”

“And I still do! More than ever. You’re the strongest person I know, Tom. And your capture was one of the most painful things that happened to me during the war. You know that.”

“I know,” Tom insisted. “But there’s going to be some weirdness, at least for a little while. I mean, midget, we’ve been in each other’s brains after all. Can we both agree that that’s not normal?” 

I laughed. “It’s not? You’re sure? Because I feel like this is a pretty common medical procedure.” 

With that, the tension was broken. Tom followed my lead and laughed alongside me. 

“Yeah, that was majorly weird,” he agreed. “Luckily, I’m not sure you have to brush my teeth again for me. But I have to admit, I am curious about that tiger morph…”

I lightly punched him. “You wish you were cool enough to morph my tiger.”

“I really do. Hey midget… I wouldn’t ask unless I thought it might be necessary. But if it speeds up my recovery at all, do you think… do you think we could try doing that again?”

My smile started to fade as I realized what he was asking. 

“You’re seriously asking if you can morph the yeerk again??” I asked incredulously. “Why?”

He looked embarrassed and solemn then, staring down at his limp legs which hung over the side of the bed. “Look at me, Jake.” His eyebrows contorted and furrowed in an expression of extreme concentration. The legs barely twitched. “I’ve got my face back, but the muscle memory… it’s fading. It was fresh when I tried it at first, but it’s fading now. I can feel it.” 

He looked so sad then. I didn’t know what to say.

He looked back up from his legs to my face. “I wanted to be cured. I wanted to be done with all of this, put it all behind me. More than anything, midget. I can’t stand it here, can’t stand you guys looking at me like this. And truthfully…” the tears were returning to his eyes, and his voice cracked with the emotion. “I’m not sure how much longer I can take it.” 

I was agape with shock, completely unsure of what to say. “Okay, I-um… look.” I struggled to find the words. 

The last thing I wanted was Tom back in my head, truthfully. I knew I could trust him of course, knew how badly he needed the practice. But selfishly, I didn’t want to go through that again. It had been a horrifying experience that I really hoped had ended for good with our little experiment. For both me and for Tom. 

“I could ask Rachel, or you could morph someone else if you’re really that uncomfortable.” Tom was almost begging now. “I have control over the instincts, unlike last time, we know I won’t get stuck…”

He was begging, and I hated being put in this position. I knew he did too. He wanted to be noble and respect my privacy and not demand any more than we had been giving. But at the same time, I could understand where he was coming from. I could even see it in the way his words were beginning to slur, the way he had begun to slump backwards into the bed, unable to completely hold himself upright any longer. Yeah, despite my fears, this would take practice. 

Of course, there was only answer that I could give - and it was so painful for me to do it. Tom knew what he was asking of me, knew the gravity of it. More than anything, he knew what he was putting me through. But hadn’t I sworn to do whatever it took to help my brother? Hadn’t I promised him? Hadn’t I fought for him, risked it all, so we could be right where we were?

I sighed a shaky sigh. There was only one answer that I could give, and in a way, I hated that I resented him a bit for it. “Okay, we can give it one more try.” 


End file.
